Deep Waters, Natsuki
by DezoPenguin
Summary: EMDN Story 3. It looked like a straightforward case, with no question as to who had murdered the business magnate. Yet Shizuru finds herself drawn into a tangled web of death, manipulation, and revenge on her way to the truth.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is the third in my ongoing braided novel, after "Elementary, My Dear Natsuki" and "Come, Natsuki, The Game is Afoot." You don't absolutely have to read the previous two stories to get this one, as it should be entirely obvious what roles they take in this AU and the way things are developing, but hey, if you haven't already, why not go check them out anyway?_

~X X X~

I wasn't feeling particularly merry that mid-December of 1898. All the wreaths and garlands and Christmas decorations going up and the carols on people's lips somehow served to annoy rather than relax me, and every reference I heard to how it was only one year to the new century supposedly just around the corner made me grit my teeth at the fact that I lived in an entire nation of people who couldn't count to one hundred. Shizuru had said that the century was an artificial commemoration of an arbitrary date so that it made as much sense to commemorate it now as next year, but it still bugged me.

Admittedly, my foul mood had little to do with the holidays. I'd have been more than happy to see Christmas come if I'd lived in Australia. I just didn't like the winter. The slush of an early snow had dampened my boots so that my toes were freezing, the afternoon wind bit like a knife even through my dress and traveling-cloak, and my hands were like ice on account of my choice to wear kid gloves thin enough to fit through the trigger guard of a .32 Smith and Wesson Safety Hammerless—hey, a girl has to know how to accessorize, and a trip to Soho made weapons definitely in fashion. The warmth of the smoke from my cigarette just reminded me of how cold the rest of my body was, so I finally plucked the damn thing out of my mouth, threw it down, and ground it out underfoot.

I supposed that I might have been better able to ignore the discomfort if my trip to Soho hadn't proven to be a complete bust. None of my underworld contacts had any information about men who wore triangular obsidian cuff links with a gold ball like an eye near one point. Part of me couldn't help wondering if I wasn't just fooling myself. Even if the fact that two men, two murderers had worn the same unusual cuff links wasn't just a coincidence, the incident had been fourteen years ago.

Maybe that was why the talk of a new century bothered me. The whole city seemed to be looking forward towards the future, and here I was, looking back desperately into a past populated only by fragments of memory. It was like I was caught up in a relentless tide, sweeping me away from where I wanted to go.

The memory had haunted me for years. A jostling crowd separating us, then me looking back, seeing the thrust of a hand blocked from others' view by a second body. A scream, a tumbling figure, and my mother going over the rail, plunging into the frigid waters of the North Sea. It had shaped my life from that moment, made me who I was, what I'd driven myself to become.

How could I look forward when the past was always there, with its sovereign claim? No—how could I afford to lose that past, so I fought towards it with all I had. I didn't _want_ to face the future, not if it meant cutting ties with nothing resolved.

These were the kind of thoughts that plagued me as I scrambled up Baker Street towards the door of 221. I was sure that when I returned to 221B that Shizuru would tease me about my appearance, but in a strange kind of way, I found myself looking forward to it. There was a "hominess" about it, that feeling of closeness where one didn't have to restrict oneself to the distance of polite conversation. And in thinking that, I realized that in the few months we'd shared lodgings Shizuru Viola had gotten closer to me than I'd let anyone get since the _Friesland_ had docked.

_Why don't you ask her?_ a traitorous bit of my mind asked as I mounted the front step. If anyone could find an answer for me it would be her. It was her job, after all, London's only "consulting detective": more than just a private inquiry agent, she received the majority of her cases from _other_ detectives when _they_ were at their wits' end—including the official force.

But I couldn't do that. I didn't want her poking around in my life, probing at it like a doctor exploring the depth of a wound. One of the reasons we got along was that she never _did_ pry. God only knew how much she saw; this was the woman who deduced people's life histories from their trouser knees, after all. But she never said anything, never pried, never demanded more from me than I was willing to give. That was the difference between her and people like Mai Tohika, who was a mothering kind. Mai would want to fix my problems, so I always hesitated around her. I didn't have to with Shizuru, because I knew she would respect that privacy. It was a closeness born of distance.

But then, I thought as I stamped snow off my boots, she was helping in another way. For some reason, Shizuru seemed to enjoy bringing me along on her cases, and it was starting to become part of our routine. Since our return from Dartmoor I'd watched her find the true solution of the Nelligan securities theft and how it related to a harpooning in a cabin done up like a ship's berth, thwart the machinations of a detestable baron whose taste ran to the collection of porcelain and women both, and brought to light the way in which the William Acton land squabble had led to burglary and then murder. I'd written out the events of the latter case, mostly to get things straight in my own mind, and somewhere along the way it had turned into a story, like the mystery fiction I was so fond of.

Shizuru had teased me so much about the story that in a fit of temper I'd actually sent the manuscript off to the _Strand Magazine_, with names and addresses changed. The joke was on me when they accepted the thing, with a nice fee besides and a request for more. "I told Natsuki that," was Shizuru's reply, which made me realize that she'd provoked me on purpose, to make me find the courage to submit the manuscript. And the money helped, too, when I was seemingly trying to pay off half the London underworld on a limited budget.

So yes, she was already doing her part to assist. And besides, it was better to cope with one issue at a time, wasn't it?

I wiped the last of the wetness from my feet, and climbed the stairs to 221B. There was a faint, foul smell in the air on the landing, and when I opened the door the reason rushed out at me. The room was choked with a haze of vile-smelling smoke, thick enough that my first thought was that something had caught fire.

"_Ara_, Natsuki is here!" Shizuru greeted me cheerily.

I gaped at her a little too long, resulting in a slug of smoke getting me into my lungs. Coughing, I said, "Shizuru, what the hell are you doing?"

She blinked at me, her oddly scarlet eyes widening in apparent confusion.

"But isn't it obvious? I am following in Natsuki's footsteps. The independent, modern woman has as much right to tobacco as does any man, is that not so?" She held up the elegant meerschaum with its curved handle, amber mouthpiece, and ivory lip that she must have been puffing at for at least a couple of solid hours, and with a mixture of shag that made "ship's" seem like clean, country air.

"You hate my smoking," I pointed out, coughing again. How could she _breathe_ in here?

"Doesn't the saying go, if you cannot beat someone, then join them?"

"I'll quit right now!" I said desperately, pulling my cigarette case out of my vest pocket and throwing it on the coffee table.

"But I thought that you insisted on your right to it?" Shizuru asked.

"If you promise me that _you'll_ never light that thing again, it's worth it."

"Oh, thank God," she said, the teasing completely gone from her voice, "I don't think I could stand it another minute."

"Wait—you did all this to get me to quit?"

She set the pipe down in its ashtray and extinguished it.

"Rather, I did it to demonstrate to you _why_ I wanted you to quit." She tilted her head slightly to her side, a faintly sad look in her eyes. "I would not hold Natsuki to her promise, of course."

"No, I—I was thinking of giving it up anyway," I blustered. "I mean, I mostly took it up because it showed I was independent of convention, but what's the point of doing exactly what all the other independent-thinking women are doing, right?"

_And you can't just admit you're quitting because you didn't realize how much it really bothered her until now?_ I asked myself. But the answer was obvious: of course I couldn't. I could barely believe that I was seriously making a lifestyle change—reflexively, even impulsively—for _someone else's_ sake. To come right out and say it out loud? That would be admitting to a lot more than just the smoking. No way was I handing over that kind of power.

"If you're sure...Then, can we open the windows and clear the air?"

We flung the front windows overlooking Baker Street open. I coughed again as a surge of smoke washed over me on its way out.

"Can we get out of here?" I asked.

"But Natsuki just came in."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather be able to breathe than be warm."

Shizuru giggled, smiling.

"All right, then. Shall we have our tea at the Climbing Rose? It's almost time, and the air should be clear by the time we're done."

"That's fine." The lace-doily atmosphere of a tea shop did not suit me in the slightest, but it would be warm and smoke-free, my two highest priorities at the moment.

"Good!"

She donned her gloves, traveling cloak, and hat over her lilac skirt and jacket and cream-colored shirtwaist, catching up to me on the landing where I had retreated for the sake of my lungs. I still had no idea how she'd managed to get a small bonfire's worth of smoke out of that pipe! The doorbell rang as we were on our way downstairs, but before we could get to it the red-haired Scotswoman who was our landlady had popped out of her apartment to admit a uniformed telegraph boy.

"Telegram for Miss Shizuru Viola," he said.

Mrs. Hudson half-turned to indicate the stairs, and then grinned as she saw us descending.

"You're in luck; there she is."

I edged aside so Shizuru could get past me; she tore open the telegram and read it quickly.

"Any reply, ma'am?" the boy asked.

"Yes, thank you. Mrs. Hudson, may I borrow a pen?"

"Sure, help yourself."

Shizuru ducked into Mrs. Hudson's rooms, then emerged a minute later and handed the reply form to the boy. I got a glimpse of what she'd written: "I am, as always, at your service." That was about four words too many for a telegram—hell, I'd just have said "yes" and left it at that—but that was Shizuru, refusing to abandon politeness for the sake of the medium just to save a few pennies. She tipped the telegraph boy and smiled.

"Thank you, ma'am!"

He touched the bill of his cap to her and went back out.

"Well, Natsuki, I'm afraid that our tea is going to have to be postponed." She managed to put a twinge of regret into her voice, but her eyes were laughing. That meant, so far as I could tell, only one thing.

"You have a case?"

She handed me the telegram.

"'Viola,'" I read. "'Come at once to Odessa. Smith dead. Trepoff guilty. Scandal impossible to pregnant.' Wait, what? 'Armitage.' Odessa? This telegram is calling you to _Russia_, just like that? And you're going to go? Who are Smith and Trepoff? Who's pregnant? Who the hell is Armitage that you'll drop everything and go running off like that?"

"_Ara, ara_, such a flood of questions! Natsuki must be very excited. Would you like to come with me? I can explain on the way."

"Come with you? To the Ukraine?"

She laughed lightly.

"No, this particular Odessa is in Surrey. If we hurry, we can be at Victoria Station within the half-hour to catch the next train."

"All right, but what about the rest of it?"

Ignoring me, she turned to our landlady.

"Mrs. Hudson, we left the windows open to clear the air. Since we may not be returning until tomorrow or later, would you please close them in half an hour or so?"

"Clear the air? What were you doing, chemical experiments?"

"Of a sort. I had to show Natsuki something that could not be explained in words."

"If you say so. Thanks for telling me, or else I'd end up with snow all over the rugs."

"Shizuru, what about--" I began, but she'd already gone past me and out the door, leaving me trailing in her wake. She waved a hand, seeming to conjure a growler out of thin air instead of merely calling one over. Once the cab was underway, she took pity on me.

"Now, Natsuki was wondering about Odessa?"

"Yeah, I've never heard of any village called Odessa. And you knew at once where it was without any information besides the name."

"That's because it is not a village. Odessa is the name of the country estate of the Searrs family, named because the wife of its builder was from that city and he wished to commemorate her home."

"I see. Hey, that name, Searrs, it sounds familiar somehow?"

"They are very prominent in trade and finance. They were among the initial investors in the East India Company as well as profitable ventures in the New World. More recently they have backed the spread of railroads and have a controlling stake in several mining and industrial concerns as well."

They sounded like the kind of people my father would appreciate. Gerhart Kruger, German industrial magnate, had built a fortune in steel, ships, and munitions.

"In recent years, however, the Searrs family's luck has been confined to the monetary," Shizuru continued. "Seven years ago, David and Jessamyn Searrs were killed when the _Sophy Anderson_ went down."

I winced; I'd heard of that disaster even at a tender age, the sinking of a bark run down in the mist by a steamer. Death at sea by itself hit home too closely for my own comfort.

"They left behind two children, both daughters, heiresses to a vast fortune. The elder, Rena, was fourteen at the time, while the younger, Alyssa, was only three, barely more than a baby. The Searrses had provided for their deaths in a will, and a trust was set up, a sort of foundation, for the preservation and management of the family's interests. The trustee was one of the highest-ranking Searrs executives, a man with the unusually dull name of John Smith."

"Smith! The telegram said--"

Shizuru nodded.

"I have to assume that this is the 'Smith' referred to in the telegram, yes, though the economy of words allowed might permit some error." She sighed. "But I'm getting ahead of myself."

"There's more?"

"Oh, yes. Rena Searrs grew into a charming and beautiful young woman, one of the darlings of the social world. She made her debut at age nineteen, was presented at Court, and was considered one of the greatest marital prizes of the 1896 Season. You could scarcely pick up a paper without the society column containing some mention of her. Natsuki does not recall the name?"

"Shizuru, have you ever seen me read a society column? The lifestyles of the rich and overbred don't appeal to me in the slightest."

Shizuru touched her finger to her lower lip in a parody of a thoughtful mien.

"_Ara_, that is a point. Nonetheless, she was quite celebrated."

I supposed the girls at the seminary I'd been supposed to be attending at the time would have been fascinated by the doings of Society; indeed, several of them would likely be looking forward to their own debuts. Maybe even me. The bastard daughter of a foreigner and his mistress wasn't going to be presented at Court anytime soon, but I might have become a proper ornament to the household of some professional, City man, or squire. If I'd been possessed by the spirit of somebody else, maybe.

"So who'd she marry?"

"No one?"

"No one?" I echoed.

"She attracted many offers, of course, being beautiful, charming, and wealthy. Moreover, the fact that her parents were deceased meant that her fortune would be immediately accessible to her husband rather than being tied up in marriage settlements or doled out by the whims of a father-in-law who'd have to be placated. As you might gather, there were many fortune hunters. However, she settled on a Russian, perhaps with some regard to her own family history. He was a younger son of a minor family, distantly related to Prince Yusupov, and was a bit of an adventurer. However, he was no fortune hunter, having obtained a position of responsibility as the guardian of the child of a wealthy Italian count. They'd been friends in their adventuring days, you see."

"I'm guessing things didn't run all that smoothly, though."

"No." Shizuru shook her head sadly, "They were to be married at the end of August, but that July, Rena Searrs died tragically. She was hosting a house-party at Odessa and had gone for a ride, when a saddle-girth broke while she was taking a jump. Her neck was broken, leaving her eight-year-old sister as the last survivor of the Searrs family."

"That's why you said that they've been fortunate only as it regards money."

Shizuru nodded.

"And in that respect they have been very fortunate. Under Smith's direction the Searrs holdings have increased significantly. He had a reputation in the City as a very astute and extremely ruthless businessman. Were he an American, he would no doubt have been one of those 'robber barons' one reads about. Of course, a man like that would be twice as dangerous with a financial stake the size of Searrs's backing him."

"You mean, he's the type of man who'd made enemies. Competitors overcome, business partners forced to take a less-profitable arrangement due to the Searrs trust's financial power, or people injured by harsh, even outright shady business practices?" Shizuru looked at me oddly. "What? Just because I don't read the social gossip doesn't mean that I don't know how the important stuff works."

"I must remember not to underestimate Natsuki."

"Damn right," I said, feeling faintly insulted. Did I come off as that much of an ignorant sapskull just because I didn't like to dress stuff up in a pretty picture with a bow on it? "So this Trepoff person..."

"Yes?"

"The telegram just gave the name as if you'd know whom he or she was like Smith and Odessa."

"That's quite true."

The cab was slowing to a stop; I glanced out the window and recognized the facade of Victoria Station.

"So who is he? Some business rival?"

Shizuru shook her head.

"Not in the sense that you mean. Sergay Trepoff was Rena Searrs's fiance."

~X X X~

_A/N: As I noted back in "Elementary, My Dear Natsuki," I made Natsuki a smoker solely so I could insert a joke given to me by my friend RadiantBeam, and here it was!_

_As in "Come, Natsuki, The Game is Afoot," the other cases mentioned by Natsuki as being solved in between stories are taken from the original Sherlock Holmes canon. Try to figure out which ones!_

_A growler, also called a four-wheeler, is the more common type of cab from the era (although the hansom is more famous), a small closed carriage._


	2. Chapter 2

The Searrs estate was surrounded by a high, red-brick wall with an honest-to-goodness gatehouse by the elaborate wrought-iron gates. The family name, I saw, was mounted in the scrollwork on the left gate, with the name of the estate on the right.

"All that's missing is a coat of arms," I murmured. "Couldn't any of the Searrs family wrangle a knighthood?"

"I recall hearing that Reuben Searrs, the son of the family's founder, was in fact offered a knighthood but turned it down in the belief that merely accumulating wealth should not be grounds for such an honor," Shizuru told me. "Succeeding generations held to that tradition, whether they agreed with it or not, out of family pride. The story may be apocryphal, however, spread as a justification rather than being based in truth."

While we'd had to get our own carriage at the station to bring us out to Odessa, we were obviously expected. Our driver spoke for only a moment to the porter before he came out and opened the gate, letting us proceed through. We drove down a winding lane through an expansive park I'd have associated with a royal estate rather than a merchant of any level of success. The combination of snow-covered lawns, a frozen pond with a graceful summerhouse, and stables and outbuildings enough to make for a village all on their own made me think of a Christmas print on a magazine cover. The centerpiece, of course, was the house itself. If it was any bigger it would have to be called a castle, but its design was clearly not meant for defense with its many fanciful windows. Even the yellow stone would likely gleam, warm and welcoming, in the sun, while beneath this day's gray skies and glistening with snow and ice it looked like a fanciful, frosted cake, a fairy palace rather than a place associated with a history of death and tragedy.

Shizuru had, in her typical frustrating way, refused to go any further into detail about the case on the train ride to Surrey. With regard to the Searrs family, there was probably nothing more to say, but I still had questions, not the least of which were about the person who'd summoned her to Odessa. Shizuru, though, would only smile at me in that way she had and say, "I would not dare deprive you of the experience." Nor would she speculate about the pregnancy mentioned in the telegram, except to say that she doubted it would prove important.

I'd been rooming with Shizuru for long enough now that I knew I'd get my answer to her teasing sooner or later, probably when it would be for the most dramatic value. I therefore didn't pester her, but tamped down my impatience as best I could—which was to say, not very well. My champing at the bit probably gave her as much amusement as my reaction when the answers were revealed would. The funny thing was, while the delay itself annoyed me, her using it as a game for her own entertainment didn't. I wondered why, but the best I could come up with was maybe that was just the kind of thing one gets used to, the idiosyncrasies of a friend.

I'd always been bad at examining my own feelings, anyway, so I gave it up as a futile exercise. The carriage had pulled to a stop before the front door, and the driver helped us down. It annoyed me again to have to accept the help, but since I was wearing skirts rather than trousers it was better than falling on my face in the snow and mud. A liveried footman answered our knock, a maid took our traveling cloaks, and we were shown from the foyer down a corridor, through the towering great hall which stretched four stories to a skylight, and then down another corridor.

As we progressed, I could hear the rising of a strident voice. We grew closer and closer to it, until the servant guiding us opened a door and it blasted out over us.

"Just how many times do I have to tell you people, not to go stomping all over the area with your size twelves? Just because a case looks open and shut doesn't mean that there isn't valuable evidence to be gained from the scene. What's the point of calling in Scotland Yard if you're going to destroy all the clues before I get here?"

"_Ara, ara. _That sounds like a familiar lecture."

We'd been greeted by quite an unusual sight. A police constable, apparently from the Surrey force, was in the midst of receiving a dressing-down. The unusual part was the one doing it: a woman of middle height wearing a green skirt and cream-colored blouse, with a jacket the same color as the skirt cut along almost military lines that with its gold embroidery seemed to suggest a uniform. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back severely and her bright violet eyes flashed with unrestrained emotion.

She spun at Shizuru's words.

"Viola! It's about time you've got here. I've been stuck dealing with these embrasures all day!"

"I think you mean imbeciles, Lady Haruka." It was a girl dressed as a governess or lady's maid in pearl gray who spoke up, a freckled young woman with reddish-brown hair and wire-rimmed spectacles. She had a high-pitched, shy voice which suited her posture; the blonde had so dominated the room that I literally hadn't even noticed the brunette.

"I'm certain that they understand your feelings," Shizuru said, giving the trembling constable a quick, reassuring smile.

"They'd better." The blonde turned to me. "Who are you?"

"Inspector Armitage, Miss Chrysant, may I present to you Miss Natsuki Kuga, my friend and associate," Shizuru said as smoothly as if she'd been at a formal reception. "Natsuki, this is Scotland Yard Inspector Lady Haruka Armitage and her maid, Miss Yukino Chrysant."

"Hey! Yukino is a companion, not a maid," Armitage snapped at once. Either way, I noted, she should have called her "Chrysant" rather than "Yukino"—senior servants were addressed by their last names out of respect for their position in the belowstairs hierarchy.

"Lady Haruka, that isn't important."

"Like hell it isn't. I'm not going to allow this tea-addicted pink slip to low-rate you."

"It's 'Pinkerton, Lady Haruka," Chrysant replied.

"Please accept my apologies, Miss Chrysant," Shizuru said, making the companion flutter.

"No, no, it really isn't necessary—"

"Of course it is, Yukino," Armitage told her.

"Wasn't there something about a murder?" I put in. At least I'd figured out the pregnancy; Armitage's tendency towards malapropisms must have gotten the better of her while she dictated the telegram to the agent, and she'd substituted "pregnant" for "prevent." I guessed that I understood the "Yukino," too; she simply considered the companion to be a friend and the use of her first name was a sign of closeness.

Armitage gave me a sharp, assessing look from hat to hem.

"Right; this way. The body's in the billiard room."

She led the way at a pace which wasn't quite a run but definitely didn't waste any time, the rest of us trailing in her wake. The billiard room had large windows looking out into the rear garden, two game tables—one for billiards and one for pool—a rack of cues on the wall, and a well-stocked sideboard where cut-glass decanters glittered in the fading sunlight. The ambience was ruined by the dead man sprawled on his back between the tables.

"John Smith," Armitage said, waving at the corpse. "You know him, of course."

"Not personally, but that he was the chief trustee and acting director of the Searrs Foundation, yes."

"Good. Here's the gist of it. Smith had several guests down for the weekend for a house-party. The way I see it, it was more of a business meeting than a social event—you know the kind of thing I mean. The guests included Sir Gavin Beaumont and his wife Isadora; Martin Coxley and his wife Irene; Father Greer, the local vicar, and his daughter Miyu; Miss Maria Markova, who acted as hostess for Smith; and Sergay Trepoff and his ward, Nagi dai Artai. Oh, and Alyssa Searrs, of course, though she's only ten."

Shizuru nodded. I was impressed at how Armitage could rattle off the names.

"There was a nasty squall last night after dinner, putting about three inches of snow on the ground; I don't think tracks are relevant here but in any case it ended around eleven. It did, however, result in Father Greer being invited to stay the night. His daughter is Miss Searrs's governess or something, anyway."

"I see."

"For what it's worth, I did inspect the grounds and didn't find any tracks approaching the house which couldn't be specifically identified with someone or other coming or going after the killing whose whereabouts are accounted for."

"I was certain that you wouldn't overlook that aspect, Inspector."

Armitage gave Shizuru a searching look as if she suspected there was a barb in there somewhere, but my friend only gave her usual, placid smile, which as always was completely unreadable as to what—if anything—lay behind it.

"In any case, here are the known facts. Trepoff and Smith went off to play billiards at around ten. Trepoff seemed agitated according to witnesses—Yukino?"

Chrysant took out a small, leather-bound notebook and flipped through the pages.

"Mr. Coxley and Father Greer both suggested that, Lady Haruka."

"Thanks. Anyway, they played for a while. Shortly after ten-thirty, people in the sitting room across the hall began to hear raised voices. At quarter to eleven, they heard a shot. They rushed here and found Smith dead and Trepoff holding a smoking revolver. The local police were sent for. They got here at about twelve, poked around destroying evidence and being generally overwhelmed by the magnificence of the people involved and decided that Scotland Yard could do this better than they could, which is about the only accurate thing the Surrey Force managed to detect. They sent to the Yard, and the Yard sent me. I'd like to say it'd because of my skill but we both know the real reason is probably that since I have a title I'm not likely to be intimidated by all this high society folderol. I took statements, checked the evidence, and arrested Trepoff. The two men were alone in the room, and there were powder traces on his hand. He shot Smith, all right."

"If it's so simple, then why send for me?" Shizuru was curious.

Armitage scowled.

"Because it's wrong, damn it."

"Your case seems conclusive. Is Trepoff denying the killing?"

"No, that's just it—he's not. And the evidence _is_ conclusive. Only one shot was heard, one shot was fired from the gun Trepoff was holding, Trepoff fired that one shot. No third party approached the house unless they had wings, so there's none of that 'he was shot from outside and I returned the fire' nonsense. Besides, there are powder burns on Smith's shirtfront so we know it was a close-range shot that killed him. It all fits. And like I said, Trepoff isn't denying it. He's gone and given us a conception!"

"It's 'confession,' Lady Haruka."

Shizuru tipped her head to one side.

"Did he say why he committed the crime?"

Armitage shook her head.

"No, just that Smith deserved what he got. But you can see how it looks. The fiance of the deceased heiress kills the trustee of that heiress's fortune. You can do the math."

"Indeed, and I can see why your telegram spoke of an impending scandal. Trepoff's barrister will be sure to play it all through in the hope of sparing his client the rope."

"Exactly. Except that I'd expect Trepoff to start talking now. Maybe he wants to play the whole, 'for the sake of the family name' routine and have it reluctantly dragged out of him. It's all so confidential,"

"It's 'convenient,' Lady Haruka."

"Do you see what I'm getting at, Viola?"

Shizuru nodded.

"Yes, I do. Thank you for calling me in on this case. It looks to be most fascinating."

"Just don't get so entertained you forget to solve the thing."

"May I be permitted to search the house and question whomever I please?"

"Of course. If anyone gets too high-and-mighty over it, then you can tell them you're acting under my authority and I'd be glad to explain it to them in person if they can't figure out on their own why they should cooperate in investigating a murder."

I reflected that virtually anyone would find Shizuru's most intrusive questions easier to deal with than Armitage's verbally beating them to a pulp. Shizuru apparently agreed with me, judging by her smile. It was subtle, but I'd known her long enough now to see the humor infecting the mask.

"I will do that, Inspector. Is Trepoff still here, or has he been taken to jail yet?"

"He's still here. I'm not letting any of the evidence out of my hands until I'm ready to wrap this up."

"I'd like to talk to him once I've examined the body."

"All right."

Shizuru didn't move, but remained looking at Armitage.

"Oh, fine!" Armitage huffed. "I know, I know, the great consulting detective has to do her own thing in her own way." She turned to her companion. "Yukino, when Viola's done here, take her to see Trepoff."

"Yes, Lady Haruka."

Armitage turned and marched out of the room, leaving the field to Shizuru. Chrysant withdrew politely and stood just outside the door, and only then did Shizuru walk forward to the body.

"So what the hell was that about?" I asked, trailing behind her.

"I prefer not to work with the Inspector looking over my shoulder," Shizuru explained. "We have nearly opposite styles of investigation."

"Yeah, that I could see. The woman's like a battleship under full steam. She makes _me_ look subtle."

Shizuru chuckled.

"Don't underestimate Inspector Armitage, Natsuki. With the possible exception of Reito Kanzaki, she has Scotland Yard's finest mind, and a fierce dedication to justice. She is the Metropolitan Police's only female detective officer, and she has earned her way in a field so dominated by men by her will and wits both. Nine out of ten police officers would have arrested Trepoff and had done with the matter, but she knew that there was likely more to this affair than met the eye right from the start."

"Does she really have a title?"

"Oh, yes; her father is the Marquis of Penford. Her mother is a Suzushiro—the family has extensive holdings in the Midlands in mining and industry. Lady Haruka inherited her father's devotion to civic order and her mother's self-sufficient spirit; she could have easily spent her life as a society belle but instead chose to carry on a career where she could help protect justice in a direct fashion and forced the world to accept her in it by sheer force of personality."

"You sound like you admire her."

Shizuru's smile widened.

"I respect her intelligence and her dedication. I disagree with her in her method of handling people and her complete inability to be subtle, but that is all a part of what makes her remarkable. And of course, it is possible to have positive feelings for people who are very different from oneself, or else how could Natsuki and I be close?"

I blushed, as she damn well knew I would. At least she'd waited until I wasn't in front of Armitage and Chrysant, or anyone else for that matter. Shizuru tended to exercise her amusements with discretion. Discretion and diplomacy were what set her apart from Armitage, after all.

Which was why, I realized, she called the Scotland Yarder "Inspector Armitage" rather than "Lady Haruka." the former was the result of hard work and probably more than a little pain, while the latter was an accident of birth. I was certain which one Armitage would prefer to be identified with, and Shizuru granted her that respect without otherwise ever calling her attention to it. Diplomacy.

"Shizuru, did you call Chrysant a maid to provoke Armitage into defending her?" I asked, the thought suddenly striking me.

"You mean, to give Inspector Armitage a chance to speak from the heart and positively impress Natsuki with her loyalty and sense of fair play? Is that the kind of thing that I would do?"

"You can stop grinning; it worked."

"Then perhaps we could turn our attention to the murdered man?"

There wasn't much reason to, from what I could tell. John Smith lay on his back, still clad in evening-dress. A neat hole in his white shirtfront was surrounded by red.

"There's another spot on the rug here, next to him," Shizuru said. "He fell forward, as is natural, and was turned onto his back, probably by one of the people who responded to the shot."

Smith was not a prepossessing man. He'd been somewhat overweight and balding, with great tufts of yellow hair on the sides of his head. His nose was bulbous and his face fleshy; even in death he seemed to have a supercilious grin on his face. His evening clothes were meticulously tailored, however, in the understated fashion of a businessman who had good taste rather than the flashy desire to show off his wealth. Even his ornamentation was understated: a gold watch-chain and—

My heart suddenly caught in my throat.

Smith was wearing black cuff links, but not jet or enamel, something else—onyx, maybe? Cuff links shaped like triangles, with a little gold ball like an eye inset near one point of the triangle.

~X X X~

_A/N: Those of you familiar with semi-obscure Victorian mystery series may recognize Haruka and Yukino's roles as being taken from Baroness Orczy's "Lady Molly of Scotland Yard," where the eponymous Lady Molly plays Sherlock Holmes for the official police, with her cases narrated by her worshipfully adoring maid._


	3. Chapter 3

To say that I was thunderstruck was an understatement of epic proportions. It was completely unexpected, utterly out of the blue, that the symbol I'd spent weeks scouring the filthiest pits of the London underworld in search of should turn up right when I _wasn't_ looking—and in the country home of one of England's wealthiest families, besides. My body seemed to have frozen from the shock; my breath seemed caught in my throat and it was as if my heart had ceased to beat.

"Only the one shot," Shizuru said, crouching by the body to get a better look. "There are scorch marks and powder burns on the shirt as well; it was a close-range shot, as the Inspector said. The police surgeon will extract the bullet so that it can be verified to be a match for the ammunition in Trepoff's weapon, but that part of the story appears true so far. There's certainly no sign of a struggle."

Her voice seemed to be coming from far away, like something out of a dream.

"What's this? Red felt under his nails?" she continued, lifting Smith's well-kept, manicured hand. She set the hand back down, stood, and looked at the surface of the billiard table. "Scratches here, so that it looks like he clutched at it when he fell. That gives some confirmation that he was shot right here just as it appears. It seems that Inspector Armitage was right thus far, does it not, Natsuki?"

She glanced over at me.

"Y-yeah," I managed to force out.

"Natsuki?"

Worry flashed across her face. It didn't take a genius to realize that something was wrong with me, and even it it had, well, Shizuru was one.

"Natsuki, what's wrong?"

I tried to gather myself. I _had_ to maintain control here, or else I'd find myself spilling the whole thing.

"N-nothing," I said. I took refuge in bluster as I so often did, before getting another idea. I looked from Shizuru to the body, then quickly back at Shizuru with a shudder. "I-I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me."

Shizuru touched my arm lightly.

"Let's go talk to Trepoff; there is no reason for Natsuki to stay here feeling uncomfortable," she said kindly.

"I'm not uncomfortable!" I protested. It was as pathetic as my usual protests sounded, only this time I was _trying_ to sound pathetic, to make Shizuru believe that I was covering up for getting weak-kneed at the sight of the corpse when in reality it was something entirely different. Had it worked? I didn't know, but at the very least she _seemed_ to accept my deception with her usual hint of amusement at my utterly transparent protests.

"As Natsuki says, but let us go speak to Trepoff in any event."

Chrysant led the way to where the confessed killer was being held. Since Armitage wasn't letting anyone out of her control until the matter was settled, his "cell" proved to be a small morning room with one door, outside of which a constable had been posted. I was half expecting to find an open window and a trail of footprints across the snow outside, but no, Trepoff was waiting for us.

The room was one of those delicate, feminine affairs where the furniture looked like it would collapse into splinters if anything heavier than a teacup was set on it. Trepoff's solid masculinity looked as out of place in it as a bull would have in a china shop. The Russian was of slightly above-average height, lean and muscular of build, with a long face that looked attractive without actually having attractive features. His blond hair was neatly cut and he wore his evening-dress with a kind of crispness that suggested the military to me. A half-empty china cup of black coffee was on the table next to his seat, and his eyes were bloodshot. I suspected that he hadn't slept since the shooting. He stood politely at our entrance.

"Mr. Trepoff? I'm Shizuru Viola, and this is my associate, Miss Natsuki Kuga."

"Miss Viola? The consulting detective?" he asked, interest showing in his face.

"The same," she replied.

"It's a privilege to meet you. I'd heard of your involvement in the Vamberry murder, and how you broke up that smuggling ring."

"You surprise me, Mr. Trepoff. I wasn't aware that my presence in that case was public knowledge."

"The dai Artai financial interests, which I supervise, are far-reaching. They included certain dealings with Vamberry and Son, so I had access to inside information. That was fine work. What I don't quite understand is how someone like you would become involved in this case."

He took a cigarette case from his pocket.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" He smiled at her ruefully. "It's been something of a stressful night for me."

"If you must," she said, but her smile was in place, making it sound almost like a maiden's flirtations rather than a fastidious lady's displeasure. It made me wonder if she truly objected to _my_ smoking and didn't feel any reason to conceal it from me, or if it was all some elaborate tease.

Trepoff obviously didn't take it as an objection, because he removed a cigarette from the case and lit it. I watched his hands and wrists when he raised them in the act; his cuff links were simple silver studs, not the ominous triangle. The smoke hit my nostrils a moment later; the cigarette was apparently as Russian as the man himself. It wasn't one of my favorite tobaccos.

"So why are you here? Inspector Armitage has gathered the facts, and the case couldn't be more clear-cut." He chuckled bitterly. "There's nothing to test your famous deductive powers on."

She didn't answer him directly.

"Would you consider yourself to be an intelligent man, Mr. Trepoff?"

"Pardon?"

"You manage the dai Artai financial interests, which as you said are far-reaching. Before that, you engaged in a career of adventure, which as I'm sure Natsuki would agree, requires a quick wit and a cool head in a crisis."

Why was she looking at me? "Um, yeah, it does." _And such a fine job of showing off that quick wit you just did, Kuga._

"You flatter me."

"It makes me curious, you see. Why would an intelligent man, a cunning man, commit a murder in a way that almost guaranteed he would be caught and hanged?"

I managed to suppress my reaction, but internally I wanted to slap myself upside the head. I'd missed that, missed it completely, and Shizuru hadn't. Hell, _Armitage_ hadn't.

At least from the look of him Trepoff hadn't taken it any better than I had. He looked blankly at Shizuru.

"I don't know what you mean. I wasn't thinking straight. Who is, when they kill people?"

He put the cigarette to his lips, drawing in smoke and, I suspected, giving himself time to think.

"And what was it that had you so hotheaded that you committed such an obvious crime?"

His gaze narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Since the crime is so obvious, I don't see how that's relevant."

"Curiosity is something of a fault with me."

Trepoff glanced away.

"He had it coming to him. You don't think someone like him got where he did without leaving a trail behind him of people he'd wronged?"

"So how did he wrong you?"

He sighed.

"It's finished now," he said, not loudly but with finality. "Let the dead make their apologies among themselves, and leave the living out of it."

It was clear that this was the last word he intended to offer on the subject, and Shizuru moved on.

"Very well, then. Take me through the crime itself, step by step."

He chuckled wryly.

"Isn't that supposed to be your job to discover, Miss Viola? It's not much of a feat of detection if the criminal simply tells the detective everything right from the start."

"_Ara, ara_, I did not think you were so eager to be hanged, Mr. Trepoff."

He glanced down at his hands, looking, it seemed, at the wisp of smoke curling up from the tip of the cigarette, then sighed heavily. The smug little smile vanished from his lips and his features took on a more serious expression.

"You're right, of course. This foolish bravado—it's nothing but me whistling in the dark." He ground the cigarette in the ashtray. "I think that it was at dinner that I made up my mind to do it. I couldn't stand watching him sit there like some poisonous toad, puffed up with his smug self-assurance and all too aware of his power, how he'd gotten there. He was nothing but a leech, fastened onto the Searrs fortune and sickeningly bloated with what it gave him. This house in which he was hosting this party, the food being served, the fine clothes he wore—none of it was his in any way. Little Alyssa was down at the end of the table with Father Greer and his daughter, and all I could think was, that the bastard Smith had all but swallowed her up, like the foundation absorbs companies. I barely touched my food; looking at him utterly nauseated me."

I couldn't help but think that Trepoff was in the exact same position with regard to the dai Artai money as Smith was for the Searrs holdings, but I'd accompanied Shizuru on enough of her investigations by now to know that if she didn't mention an inconsistency like that it was for a reason, probably because she didn't want to interrupt the flow of his narrative. I stayed quiet and let him continue.

"When the gentlemen left the table for brandy and cigars, I excused myself for a moment and went to the gun room. The late Mr. Searrs had quite a collection of sporting weapons as well as military pieces. I selected a Navy Colt, loaded it, and slipped it under my jacket, then went to rejoin the others.

"I think taking the weapon in hand sobered me somewhat. I've been in a number of tight spots on the Continent in my younger days, and to wield a firearm is never a causal matter, whether in the heat of battle against bandits or in exterminating vermin like Smith."

I nodded reflexively, appreciating his point from my own experience. He caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and glanced at me in momentary surprise—but only momentary. Maybe he figured that any associate of Shizuru's had to have some unladylike talents.

For my part, I wished that one of those unladylike talents was in finding a way to get him to talk about _why_ he considered Smith vermin to exterminate. Those cuff links Smith wore were the only clue I had to my mother's murder, and this was the only chance I had of finding out what they meant, now that he was dead. I couldn't help but think that there had to be at least _some_ connection. Was it possible, even, that Smith had been one of the men who'd pushed my mother off the deck of the _Friesland_ into the North Sea?

And yet I couldn't say anything, not without revealing my interest in the cuff links to Shizuru. I was trapped by my own need for—what? Privacy? Secrecy?

_Not that Trepoff is likely to say a thing,_ I admitted. _Not now._ But I had to keep my eyes open for a chance, any opportunity.

"Once I was back in his presence, though," he continued his story, "the rage took over again. Truthfully, I could barely keep my cool. If the British weren't so reserved, I'm sure that I'd have been asked more than once if something was wrong. I barely heard a word of what the others were saying as it was. At last, I challenged Smith to billiards, just so I could get him alone and have it out at last." He smiled thinly and added, "I don't know what I'd have done if Sir Gavin or Coxley had wanted to come along. Fortunately, they weren't inclined to interfere."

"I'm not sure that I would call it fortunate."

"Not for Smith, maybe."

"Or for you," Shizuru pointed out. "After all, you're here, under arrest, so if what you did was indeed justice, then you can hardly consider this to be an acceptable end."

He looked at her strangely.

"That's an odd thing for a detective to say."

Shizuru's smile could have meant anything.

"Is it? But there have always been cases where technically criminal acts have nonetheless been considered sympathetic. Revenge for a genuine and equally criminal wrong done to a person, for example. Would you not agree, Natsuki?"

For a moment, I thought that she could somehow see right through me, that she was referring to my mother's death and my own thoughts of revenge. The idea froze me for a second, so that I couldn't find the words to answer her, and she filled the conversational gap herself.

"But then again, perhaps my father's blood is showing? I'm half Italian, you see, so the _vendetta_ isn't too far removed from my own family. Do go on, Mr. Trepoff. You and Mr. Smith crossed from the sitting room to the billiard room?"

"That's right. Finally, I had him alone to myself, the smirking worm. At first I wasn't quite sure what to say or do, so I played billiards for a while, but at last I confronted him with what he'd done. He began with sneering denials, and then mocked me for my obsession with the past—at least until I produced the gun. He realized that I was serious, then. He begged, pleased, even offered me _money_. That filthy bastard!"

He spat out something in a language I didn't speak, but Shizuru's smile grew slightly.

"Indeed," she said. "A merchant to the very end."

_Oh, that's right. Shizuru once told me that she speaks Russian._

"I laughed in his face," Trepoff said. "I'd been filled with rage until that point, but then all I could do was laugh. At him, at how pathetic he really was—and at the joke that life was, really. Evil ought to be something grand, don't you think? A terrifying devil casting its shadow over the world, not a cringing, gluttonous worm fattening itself on filth.

"That was when he realized that there was nothing that he could do that would change my mind. He made a lunge for me—"

"And you shot him?"

Trepoff chuckled wryly.

"And I shot him. Pathetic, isn't it? All that righteous fury, and I waited until the very last minute to finish things."

"Perhaps," Shizuru said offhandedly.

Trepoff looked up at her.

"You're not at all what I expected."

"Indeed?"

"I would have thought you'd be condemning me for my crime. The Inspector certainly did."

"Inspector Armitage firmly believes that a murderer should be properly punished by society. To her, law, order, and justice aren't separate concepts at all, but different names for parts of the same thing. It...irks her when people insist on separating them."

"And you?"

"I think a person would do a great deal for love's sake."

He gave a sharp indrawing of breath, a hissing sound that told me that Shizuru's bolt had gone home, even though as yet I had no idea what that bolt was, or what she was trying to imply. For love's sake? What did John Smith have to do with love? From the way Trepoff had described him, his crime was exactly the opposite: something greedy and grasping, an act of avarice, or maybe of cowardly self-protection, but certainly not something selfless like love. Or did she mean Trepoff himself, and his as-yet unknown motive? Had she deduced something? As always, Shizuru was about three steps ahead of me; while I didn't even know what the path was, she was already forging ahead.

"Goodbye for now, Mr. Trepoff. We'll talk again. Come, Natsuki," she added to me, "the game is most definitely afoot."

Trepoff and I had almost identical looks of astonishment on our faces when she said that. I think that was the first time that the thought entered my head: was Trepoff actually _innocent_? _No, that's ridiculous; you even just heard him confess,_ I told myself, but then again a confession was only words and could just as easily be a lie as any other statement. As for the evidence..maybe to Shizuru it wasn't as airtight as it seemed at first blush?

And yet on some level, none of that really mattered at all to me. What I wanted was a few minutes alone with Trepoff, who'd known enough of Smith's life and misdeeds to want him dead. He had to know _something_ about those cuff links, didn't he? At the very least, what they meant—_if_ they meant anything more than fashion. Yet I had no other choice, for now, but to follow Shizuru out of the room, towards her answers but in the entirely wrong direction for mine.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: In response to one of the anonymous reviews, a handgun bullet would not generally make one fall backwards; it doesn't exert enough force on a body to push it over backwards (the natural tendency of a human body is to fall forwards, all else being equal). Despite, of course, what the movies and TV would have us believe!_

_More generally, I've been getting more reviews and comments lately asking about the progress of Natsuki and Shizuru's relationship (or, more accurately, wondering IF there's a Shizuru and Natsuki relationship, considering how slowly they're moving!). I can certainly understand why people would be asking such a thing, since we're somewhere around 65,000 words into the project and even subtext is building slowly. All I can say to that is that "Elementary, My Dear Natsuki" is a six-part braided novel, and we're only on the third part right now. Their ongoing relationship and what they come to mean to each other is a major part of the series metaplot (the other part being Natsuki's past) and the two plotlines are building at about the same rate. As you might expect, it's at the end of the series, in the fifth and sixth stories where the series metaplot begins to move to the forefront instead of lurking in the background. As to precisely what happens the...well, you'll have to read and see. On the other hand, I'm also impressed as to how many reviewers seem to be picking up on the hints and subtext I'm trying to supply. You guys are a sharp-eyed bunch!_

_Incidentally, my wife and I had a movie date since the last chapter went up, and we got to see the Robert Downey Jr. version of _Sherlock Holmes. _While not a great "Holmes" movie (i.e. there were considerable changes from the Canon, although there was also a surprisingly pleasant amount of observation and deduction, including some rather original developments of Holmes's abilities, such as in the fight scenes, and a rather scrupulous attention to having the audience presented with the actual evidence Holmes uses in solving the case!), we both found it to be an excellent adventure/suspense movie, well-acted, with an engaging plot and an excellently Gothic CGI London setting. Shizuru would certainly approve of the Ho Yay between Holmes and Jude Law's Watson, as well._

~X X X~

"Where are we going?" I asked, a bit more testily than I had any real justification for being.

"To examine Trepoff's room, of course. Miss Chrysant?" she said, turning to look at the spectacled brunette.

"Yes, Miss Viola. It's this way."

"I'm sure that Inspector Armitage already did that. Did she find anything significant?"

"No, Miss Viola, nothing that she asked me to take note of."

"The bad thing about winter, of course, is that all the fires are laid on, making it convenient for people who want to destroy evidence."

"I'm going to sound like an idiot here, but evidence of what?"

"Why, the motive, of course."

I felt as lost by Shizuru's train of thought as I did in the paneled halls that Chrysant led us through.

"Shizuru, why would Trepoff be stupid enough to bring evidence of the motive with him? All right, granted, the crime itself wasn't a work of genius, so maybe he's not as intelligent as I'm giving him credit for being, but if he had any mind at all he would just leave that sort of thing at home or better yet dispose of it permanently before he even came here."

"He couldn't leave it at home, for the simple reason that he didn't have it until he got here."

"That's what Lady Haruka said," Chrysant spoke up, almost chirpily. I guessed she was happy to get her mistress's opinion validated by the outside expert.

"It's an elementary deduction," Shizuru explained. "If Trepoff had made up his mind to murder Smith before this weekend, he would have made a plan. Even in the grip of emotion, _some_ thought of self-preservation would have occurred to him; he is an adventurer, with past experience in tight spots and violent situations. Would Natsuki, in his place, be so hot-headed as to not come up with some scheme for safely dispatching a mortal enemy? At the very least, would you not bring a weapon?"

"He'd know that there was a gun collection here," I played devil's advocate, "so that a maid unpacking his bags or something wouldn't accidentally find the gun."

"A point," Shizuru granted, "but if he'd planned that far in advance, wouldn't he have also planned a better way to commit the crime?"

"Not every murderer cares whether or not he gets caught," I pointed out.

"True, but consider the basic character of the man—and the victim, too, for that matter. This was not a case where a religious fanatic hurled himself at an enemy of the faith."

"All right," I grumbled. "So what does it all mean?"

"That Trepoff did not come to Odessa with the intention to murder Smith. Something happened that filled him with a murderous rage, an emotion so strong that it clouded his judgment and demanded that he kill Smith even at the cost of his own life. The _immediacy_ of it, of being under the same roof as Smith when he received the key information, was the driving force in things turning out as they did. He made a discovery, and that discovery demanded blood."

I thought it through as Chrysant took us upstairs to the guest rooms. Shizuru had a point. To me, the fact that Trepoff hadn't brought a gun to Odessa finished it. If he'd intended murder from the start—even if he hadn't fully made up his mind—he'd have been ready to kill, just in case. _Be prepared_ was a lesson one learned fast and never forgot.

"So what was it?" I asked.

"Natsuki," Shizuru chided. "Surely you can guess."

"I thought you always said guessing was a shocking habit, 'destructive to the logical faculties' or whatever."

"That's why I asked _you_ to guess," she teased, unperturbed.

I thought about what I knew of the people involved, which wasn't much. Even so, I realized, Shizuru had been right to chide me. It was _obvious_, and I could only blame my not seeing it to the jolt I'd gotten at the sight of Smith's cuff links.

"It's the old story, right? Smith controlled Rena Searrs's money under the trust until she reached a certain age or she married, so he killed her to keep that from happening? Alyssa Searrs is just a little kid, so he'd have almost a decade more to play with to cover up—or to murder her, too, if it came to that."

"Very good, Natsuki," Shizuru approved. "That seemed the likeliest possibility to me, as well. I trust that the Inspector agrees, Miss Chrysant?"

"Lady Haruka hasn't specifically said so to me—"

"The way it so often is for us friends and companions of famous detectives," I commiserated to tease Shizuru, and got a shy little grin out of Chrysant. She was something of a mouse, but apparently one with hidden depths.

"—but I did get that impression from a number of her remarks."

Shizuru nodded.

"I thought so. But if the answer to _what_ Trepoff learned is self-evident, the question of _how_ is a different matter entirely."

"How?"

"Yes. How did Trepoff acquire this information, particularly as it is unlikely that he came to Odessa looking for it?"

"The lack of a plan again?" I guessed.

"Indeed. It's more speculative, since it's at second hand, but if I was deliberately looking for evidence that the woman I loved was murdered, then I would be ready to act on that evidence. Either I would have a plan for disposing of her killer without being caught, or at the least I would be sufficiently prepared for the truth that it wouldn't cause me to lose my head."

There was something in what Shizuru had said that sounded, not _wrong_, but...unusual, like a musical piece played unexpectedly in a minor key. I couldn't put my finger on exactly what, thought, and the deduction itself made complete sense, so that wasn't it, and so I decided to put it aside.

"I can't argue with that."

Shizuru's smile grew, just a bit, but it was there.

"Which is what makes this case so fascinating, Natsuki."

I could not miss the relish in her tone. But then, it was only to be expected. These twisted puzzles of human emotion and malice were her reason for being, capable of getting her to focus her intellect and perception towards good ends instead of as a parlor game while she sat and drank tea.

"Shizuru, there's one thing I was wondering," I began, a little sheepishly.

"Oh?"

"You're talking about Trepoff's motive for the crime. You don't think that there's any chance that he didn't do it?"

"Well, I realize that in Natsuki's favorite mystery novels the arrest of a person by the official police before the detective arrives on the scene is a guarantee of innocence, but that is not generally the case."

"It was Armitage who called you in, though. She wouldn't have done that if she didn't have doubts."

"Doubts, yes, but not about that."

"Lady Haruka would never have arrested him if she didn't believe that he was guilty," Chrysant spoke up in defense of her employer. There was no doubt at all in _her_ voice.

"It's just, the way you were talking when you interviewed Trepoff, you made it sound like there were questions."

Shizuru shook her head.

"_Kannin na_, Natsuki." _Forgive me._ "I'm sorry that you did not understand. I should have been more clear. We know how this story ends: with Trepoff shooting Smith much as he described it to us. What we lack—the questions that you're talking about—are the events that led up to that shooting."

I saw, or at least I thought I did. For example, if Trepoff's motive really was to avenge Rena Searrs, then Smith had probably played ducks and drakes with the Searrs fortune, and there would be a need to investigate that, possibly charging his accomplices and certainly Alyssa Searrs's new trustees would want to get as much as possible back from Smith's estate. That kind of thing was important.

Just like how an investigation into Smith's past might turn up what meaning, if any, his cuff links held.

I sighed.

"No, I'm the one who's sorry. Bad enough I'm three steps behind you, but I expect that. I'm just not used to being three steps behind everybody else in the case, too."

"Natsuki, that isn't the point at—"

"Shizuru, it's not your fault that I—"

"Um, we're here," Chrysant offered quietly. Shizuru and I dropped our dueling apologies and turned to the door.

Sergay Trepoff's guest bedroom was like every other room in Odessa: richly appointed and elegant without being opulent. A high ceiling and large casement windows made the room seem airy and pleasant, the bed was large and looked comfortable, and the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, and the writing-desk all matched one another as a complete set. There was a fireplace in the side wall, capable of giving off a cheery heat. All in all, it was the kind of room in which a guest could come to regard as home during an extended stay.

It was also not empty.

A black-haired girl in a maid's uniform was stirring up the fire with the poker, turning the embers into a pleasant blaze.

"Stop that at once!" Shizuru exclaimed. The maid looked up in surprise at our entrance, but didn't actually stop the motion of her hand. I took more direct action, taking the poker away from her and knocking fresh fuel away from the heat and beating out the just-lit kindling.

"Who are you?" she yelped. "What are you doing?"

"That is something we would be better served asking you," Shizuru said. "Didn't the police instruct that nothing was to be touched here?"

"Lady Haruka did tell the housekeeper," Chrysant said.

"In which case I am sure the message got through. Please explain yourself, Miss—?"

"Nina, ma'am," the maid answered nervously. She didn't look much older than fifteen or sixteen.

"Nina, then. Well?"

"I...I..."

"Go easy on her, Miss Viola. The poor girl has quite the _tendre_ for dear Uncle Sergay."

The voice came from the room's connecting door, which was opposite the fireplace and had opened silently on greased hinges. The tone was smooth and educated, with a faint but recognizable Italian accent. The speaker was a boy whom I guessed was about fourteen but who looked younger than that due to his lack of height and slight build. It was his expression that made me place him at the age I did; he had a smile like Shizuru's, only where her mask was an enigma, his said that he knew things, held secrets. His hair was stark white and his complexion pale, almost ghostlike, so that I wondered if he was an albino.

"I was not aware that we had been introduced, _Signor il Conte dai Artai_," Shizuru replied.

"We haven't been, although I do know your uncle. Your father's younger brother, I believe? The Viola red eyes are very striking, though I suppose that the family would prefer they didn't breed quite so true, given the scandal. Too, the house is already all abuzz about how the great consulting detective from London had to be called in." He wagged his finger at Shizuru, and probably Chrysant, too. "It seems to me that if the law needs to keep calling forth such a battery of deductive prowess to hang Uncle Sergay, then maybe it shouldn't be quite so quick to make up its mind like that, hmm?"

The maid Nina gave a little gasp at the mention of Trepoff being hanged; she'd blushed bright pink when the boy—clearly the Nagi dai Artai that Armitage had named—had revealed her infatuation. Chrysant drew herself up indignantly at the implied slight to her mistress. Shizuru, on the other hand, didn't so much as blink.

"It is an intriguing case, and certainly far more complex than the Surrey force seemed to initially see it."

"Exactly! Fancy them thinking Uncle Sergay was some sort of hot-blooded killer, banging off pistols at his host like, well, like some sort of stage Italian. Or a mad Cossack, if we are to preserve the proper national stereotypes."

"You don't believe it, then?"

Nagi shrugged theatrically.

"What can I say? They claim he was a bold enough pirate in his day, gunning down Alpine brigands at my late father's side or sailing off to strange places Europeans hadn't yet filled in on our maps, but the Uncle Sergay I know? Certainly not. My father made the man something like my banker until I'm twenty-one, and it's made his character as stodgy as a banker's, well enough."

I decided that I didn't much like Nagi dai Artai. The Count was the kind of person who put a barb, hidden or open, into every one of his remarks.

"Then what would your explanation of these events be?"

"I'm sure I couldn't say. Was there one last adventure in Uncle Sergay? Or did all those consortiums and alliances and secret societies and other silliness all catch up to Smith at last? Another banker that one, always so concerned with money. At least I'd _expect_ it of _him_. Uncle Sergay should have been daring and romantic, the kind of dashing rake who'd gladden a young woman's heart—or other things." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, which routed Nina, her blush now fierce as she rushed from the room. "He was a grave disappointment, really. At least with Smith, you knew what you were getting."

"And what, exactly, were you getting? That ended in him being murdered, I mean," Shizuru asked mildly.

The young Count chuckled.

"A dreadful bore, for one thing. But," he wagged a finger towards us again, "I don't believe that's what got him killed. Modern society isn't anywhere near to realizing what an awful offense that truly is."

"You're lucky it isn't," I told him.

He raised his eyebrows theatrically.

"You wound me to the quick, dear lady."

I shrugged.

"A man's dead, your guardian is accused, and you're standing there making jokes at their expense. What's less boring than a rebellious child who thinks he's funny?"

He stiffened at the insult; apparently the Count dai Artai had a limit of one remark at his expense before he stopped being amused.

"You're a rude woman, Miss—"

"Natsuki Kuga."

"Miss Kuga, then. You should be careful; a sharp-tongued woman raises more bad feeling than a dozen bankers. Now, as fascinating as this banter may be, I have things to attend to." Without waiting to be dismissed, he came forward through Trepoff's room and stalked petulantly out the door Nina had left through.

"That boy makes my trigger finger itch," I muttered. "If I had to be his guardian I'd probably shoot the first person that annoyed me, too."

"Despite Natsuki's admirable diplomatic skills, I do not believe that would be the motive in this case."

"I'm sorry if I went a little far with him, Shizuru, but—gah! He's like something you want to step on, then scrape off your boot."

Shizuru smiled.

"Well, I suspect that Count dai Artai will not want to share any key information with you. Still, it is a basic interrogation strategy. One person presents themselves as brash and threatening while a second is sympathetic, inviting the interrogated person to 'ally' with the sympathetic questioner. Generally, of course, one adopts this strategy intentionally, but the principle is there."

I winced.

"I said I was sorry," I murmured. Shizuru chuckled, which ordinarily would have been irksome, but I figured that if she was laughing then I couldn't have messed things up too much.

"Now, let us just see what we can here," she continued, and commenced a minute examination of the room. Watching Shizuru look for physical evidence always took me by surprise, because of how difficult it was from her usual impression of calm serenity (in business matters) or outright laziness (around the house). She threw herself into things with a deft, precise quickness, searching in and around the bed, the wardrobe and drawer, the desk, and everything else. When she got to the fireplace, though, she stopped.

"I am glad you were in time to keep the maid from building up the fire, Natsuki," she said. " Please spread some kind of cover out on the desk."

There was a creased copy of yesterday's _Times_ on the desk, so I spread it out on the writing surface. Gingerly, Shizuru cleared away the embers and carefully lifted out a charred mass of paper which she carried over to the desk.

"What's that? He was burning something in the fire? That much paper, it looks like a whole book."

"I think you're right. There were scraps of leather as well, presumably from the binding." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm surprised that no one complained about the smell, though I suppose if he disposed of it before dinner, everyone remained downstairs until the late evening."

"Actually, Miss Viola," Chrysant spoke up, "I believe that..." She paused to shuffle through her notebook. "Yes, here it is. Mr. Coxley and his valet both noticed a bad smell when Mr. Coxley was changing for dinner. They have the guest room on the opposite side of Count dai Artai from this one."

"That certainly follows, then."

I looked at the mass of charred paper.

"Does it do us any good to know that, though? I mean, is there anything left of the book? And even if there is, what good would it do to have a few scraps?"

"That would depend, I think, on what kind of book it was."

Shizuru opened her reticule and took out a delicate pair of tweezers. With these, she began to remove the charred pages one by one, slowly revealing that there was, in fact, an area at the heart of the black lump that the heat hadn't reached.

"Trepoff must have put the book into the fire before dinner," Shizuru explained. "I found this in a back corner, so he either threw it into the grate and overshot, or it slipped off. He never returned after dinner to make certain that the destruction was finished. The shooting and the police investigation, in turn, threw off the household routine, so the fire was allowed to burn out until this evening, when the maid re-lit it."

"Do you think the maid's an accomplice?"

"If she is, she is an unwitting one. From Trepoff's perspective, she is little more than a child. He would not trust her with his secrets."

"I wish we had any idea what those secrets actually were," I murmured.

"Well, perhaps these will help."

Very carefully, one by one, she separated the intact scraps and set them out next to one another on the desk.

"They look to me like pages from a ledger," Chrysant remarked. I had to agree with her. The paper was printed with rows and columns, into which a variety of figures had been entered. In some places, scraps of words were visible on the left-hand side. Several of the figures, too, had been ringed in red ink.

"You think that this is evidence Smith was playing games with the Searrs Foundation accounts?" I asked. "But why would Trepoff burn it? Hell, if nothing else, it'd look good to a jury. The wicked guardian, stealing from his beautiful and celebrated ward, murders her to cover up his defalcations, so the distraught lover kills him when he finds out? Even if there's no question of his guilt, his barrister could use that story to push hard for clemency. Enough sympathy could save him a stretched neck. Why destroy the evidence, then keep silent about his motive?"

"I think that is something that we shall have to ask him," Shizuru said.

My brain had worked its way back around to Smith's cuff links. I didn't understand their significance, but they had to mean _something_, didn't they? Or was I exaggerating their importance in the world at large because of their particular importance to _me_?

One thing was certain: I needed to use this opportunity that chance had handed me. After fruitless weeks of searching for something, _anything_, that might shed light on my mother's murder I could not pass this up. If thecuff links held any meaning beyond the artistic, then I needed to find out what it was.

Did Trepoff know? Maybe. But if his shooting Smith was straightforward revenge for Rena Searrs's death, then there might not be any connection at all. Shizuru had her case to investigate, but it wasn't mine.

"Lady Haruka will want to be there when you question him," Chrysant said, giving me an opening.

"It sounds like you'll be using that two-person method of questioning you mentioned."

"_Ara_, does Natsuki think I can be threatening and scary?"

I snorted.

"Idiot. You know what I mean. My point is, with you and Inspector Armitage to work on Trepoff and Miss Chrysant to take notes, you don't need me tagging along in the interrogation."

Shizuru blinked.

"Natsuki does not want to accompany us?"

"Natsuki missed dinner," I pointed out, not untruthfully.

"The kitchens put up a platter of sandwiches and coffee in the library for the constables," Chrysant offered kindly. "I'm sure you could have something."

I smiled.

"Thanks! I'll hurry. With luck, I'll be done long before you finish with Trepoff."

"I hope Natsuki finds what she is looking for."

"Eh?" I was startled.

Shizuru smiled.

"You can be cranky when you miss meals," she added.

Her smile, though, was one of her masks.

"Shizuru!" I fell back on our usual pattern: she'd tease, and I'd get flustered. A small smile was even playing around Chrysant's lips at our byplay. But I couldn't help but wonder just how much my friend's crimson gaze saw, and whether she was concealing just as much as I was.

~X X X~

_A/N: Curious about the scandal of Shizuru's family that Nagi mentioned? You can get the story behind that in the side-piece, "A Glimpse Behind the Masques," for those who haven't already read it!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Excerpted From the Case Notes of Yukino Chrysant**_

"I should have checked the fireplace more closely," Lady Haruka snapped. My lady was furious with herself for missing the clue. While she respected Shizuru Viola's abilities as a detective, she was forced to swallow her pride every time Miss Viola was able to discover something that she could not. What made it worse was that this was confirmation of the very suspicions that had led Lady Haruka to call Miss Viola in on the case to begin with, and therefore a clue which she had expected to find but had failed to.

"Lady Haruka, the paper probably was caught up in the other debris until the maid lay the fire this morning and knocked it loose," I noted in her defense.

"That doesn't matter, Yukino. I should have known from Trepoff's silence that he was hiding his motive, and if he was hiding it, he'd have tried to destroy evidence of it. What easier way then in the fire in his own room? That fireplace should have been extracted minutely for any traces. That tea-sipping woman certainly didn't miss it."

"It's 'examined,' Lady Haruka." Correcting her malapropisms was almost a reflex action with me. The effect seemed almost random, though it did increase somewhat when she was angry, and had no connection with particular words or sounds.

I felt that she was being too hard on herself, but I also knew that she would not accept any further argument on the point. We reached the room where Trepoff was being held and Lady Haruka went straight in.

"Come with us," she snapped. Trepoff pushed himself to his feet.

"Finally taking me to jail?"

"Back to your room."

A wry smile played around the Russian's lips.

"Being sent to my room seems a bit light for punishment under the circumstances."

My lady, unimpressed by his attempt at humor, snorted sharply.

"Just move it along, already."

"Inspector Armitage, do you want me to come with you, to keep an eye on him?" offered the constable at the door.

"I don't think he's that stupid. Besides, he's been eager enough to be hanged so far; I don't think he'll change his mind now."

With that, she set off, striding boldly through the house. Trepoff smiled, bemused, and then followed her, with me trailing alongside him.

"Am I permitted to ask what this is about?"

"You'll see when you get there."

Miss Viola was waiting patiently for us when we arrived, standing serenely next to the desk. She was such a very different person than Lady Haruka that I found it somewhat off-putting. From what I could tell, she shared my lady's dedication, but hid it behind polite manners and elegant suggestion where my lady was straightforward and direct. Where she disturbed me, though, was that I did not believe she was a particularly _honest_ person. On occasion I wished for Lady Haruka to be more diplomatic, but Miss Viola went a step beyond that to being manipulative. I never really knew what lay behind her smile, and I was always afraid that if I found out, I wouldn't like it. In situations like this, I dearly wished that I had more of my lady's courage.

"Well, here he is," Lady Haruka declared.

"Is the accused permitted to know his fate?"

"_Ara_, didn't Inspector Armitage tell you?"

"This is your show, Viola."

"If you insist. But it is, after all, a fundamental principle of justice in our society that a man be confronted with the evidence against him."

"Evidence?" Trepoff was surprised. "Given that I was caught red-handed and have already confessed to the crime, aren't all these deductive antics just a little bit superflous?"

"I thought that you had decided to give up that kind of bravado?" Miss Viola said softly. Trepoff sighed in response and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"A lifetime habit of laughing in the face of death isn't so easily shaken off, it seems."

"There is one matter you haven't been so brazen about, though, is there? Your motive for killing Mr. Smith, I mean."

As if to prove her point, the smile vanished from his face, his mouth setting itself into a thin, hard line.

"Not," she went on, "that it was ever any secret. Inspector Armitage realized it long before I arrived. Indeed, we've been more intrigued by the question of how _you_ learned the truth about Miss Searrs's death."

Trepoff's jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

"If I may offer a suggestion? The next time that you seek to destroy evidence, make certain that you do so completely. I understand that you were in the grip of strong emotion and pressed for time, but if you wish to hide matters, it is better to devote sufficient attention to the task." She gestured towards the desk. "As you can see, we've retrieved quite a significant amount of information."

He took a couple of shaky steps forward, so he could see the char-edged pieces of paper Miss Viola had painstakingly extracted.

"That's your evidence?" he rallied. "A couple of scraps? What can you prove from that?"

"Oh, quite a bit, I think. For example, the handwriting can be compared to John Smith's, or to certain members of his accounting staff to see who compiled what is obviously a second set of account books. In certain places, there are transaction dates intact, which gives us context. If necessary, someone can audit the Searrs Foundation's records to see where they match up—and more importantly, if any of the entries here differ. Then, with evidence of a crime before her, Inspector Armitage would tear forcefully into the Searrs Foundation, questioning employees at all levels, looking into every transaction, until by the time everything has been found out the financial scandal would blaze across the headlines, talked about on every street corner."

She paused just a moment, long enough for it to sink in, but not long enough for him to start digesting the information.

"Or, you could simply tell the truth. The Inspector would be spared the need to investigate the scraps, and would therefore not be presented with hard proof of financial malfeasance which would demand her further attention," she added with a smile. "So you see, your attempts to protect the family from scandal will only end up creating it."

Trepoff looked from her to my lady, whose scowl implied that she would indeed do what Miss Viola said that she would out of sheer temper alone. That was not of course the case—Lady Haruka would do it, but just as Miss Viola had said, because she was confronted with evidence as a police detective, not from personal feeling.

Trepoff smiled dully, running his hand through his hair in a curiously boyish gesture.

"Ah, I should have guessed it would all come out. My plans seem to have gone wrong in every respect. Are you sure that Smith is actually dead?"

"This isn't some joke, Trepoff!" Lady Haruka roared. "You murdered a man."

"Someone had to. Your law didn't do the job," he snapped back.

"By which, you mean the death of Rena Searrs?" Miss Viola spoke up before my lady could respond, preventing the debate from becoming any more heated.

"...Yes."

"You believe that she was murdered?"

"He admitted it when I confronted him."

"And you killed him anyway?"

"With no witnesses? My word against his?"

"Plus, you could have made him say it in front of the whole house party and it wouldn't mean anything if you had him at gunpoint," my lady pointed out. "He'd claim that he lied to keep you from shooting him, and there'd be no case."

She glanced at Miss Viola, who showed no apparent reaction to Lady Haruka's correction.

"Of course, he didn't get his own hands dirty," Trepoff went on. "His type never does. They move money, they give orders, buying their villainy instead of committing it themselves. But it was his greed that drove the crime, and he'll burn in Hell for it."

"I can't disagree with you about Mr. Smith, but I'm more interested in what burns in this world, specifically this ledger. How did it come into your possession? I gather it was not long before yesterday's dinner?"

"How did you know that?"

"Before, you began your story _with_ dinner. That is, the events during the day weren't relevant to your discussion of the crime."

Trepoff nodded slowly.

"I hadn't thought it was so obvious."

"Perhaps I should stop explaining these little deductions of mine, if I want to keep people impressed with my skills. Don't you agree, Inspector?"

"Somehow I think your pride can stand it."

"_Ara_, so harsh."

She turned back to Trepoff as if the byplay hadn't occurred.

"Take us through all of it, Mr. Trepoff. Tell us what happened."

He nodded.

"You're right, of course. It all began when I returned to my room to change for dinner."

"And what time was that?"

"We dined at eight, so I would say around half past seven, perhaps a little before."

"I see. Do go on."

"I found a package on my bed. It was wrapped in brown paper, and there was a piece of stiff paper attached to it with an inscription: 'To Sergay Trepoff; an offering to your heart.'"

"Did you recognize the handwriting?" Lady Haruka interrupted.

Trepoff shook his head.

"No, but it was a woman's, I think, if that's of any use."

"It may be. Who can say?" contributed Miss Viola. "Please, do continue your story."

"I asked my valet if he knew who'd brought the package, but he knew nothing about it. It had apparently been placed in the room while it was empty; as the room was never locked, anyone could have done it." He smiled a bit, then added, "I haven't anything worth the time to steal, at least not compared to some of my fellow guests. In any event, the package wasn't solid, like a box would have been, so I opened it at once."

At first, I didn't understand what he meant about the package. I glanced at my lady, and recognizing my confusion she mouthed the word "trap." I saw then what he was talking about—a bomb, a poisonous creature, a spring-gun, or some other nasty surprise straight out of a piece of romantic fiction. It seemed odd to me that _he'd_ had the thought, and I wondered what kind of things lay in his background from his "adventuring days." It did emphasize the point that Lady Haruka had realized about the murder and which Miss Viola had also seen at once: the kind of man who reflexively assessed packages for traps wasn't likely to be caught red-handed committing murder unless he was in the grip of an overpowering passion.

I resolved firmly to pay more attention to these sorts of details. I wanted to be genuinely of help to Lady Haruka, not just as a note-taker and a second pair of eyes, but as someone who could genuinely assist her investigate her cases, the way Sergeant Tate did for Inspector Kanzaki.

"What was in the package?"

"An accounting ledger, as you know. It was kept in John Smith's hand—_that_ I knew well enough. Someone had conveniently marked several entries in red ink, juts in case I failed to grasp the significance. Managing Count dai Artai's holdings has given me quite a bit of experience in such things, and I realized that through a series of overpayments of otherwise legitimate items and a system of dummy accounts, there had been a steady siphoning of funds out of the Searrs Foundation."

"How much?" Lady Haruka was direct as always.

"The ledger covered three months' time, and I'd say at a guess, since it would take a team of accountants checking and cross-checking to establish the precise extent, that over fifteen thousand pounds was involved."

"If one were to assume that it had been going on for the full time that Smith has acted as trustee—" Miss Viola began before my lady interrupted her.

"It'd be more than half a million pounds when you add up all his discombobulations!"

"It's 'defalcations,' Lady Haruka," I observed.

"At the least," Trepoff agreed. "For all I know, this might have been a slow time."

"Or a fast one," Lady Haruka shot back. "For all we know, this might have been a one-time embezzlement."

Miss Viola was shaking her head.

"Not if the transactions are as Mr. Trepoff describes them. They are too systematic, involving too much preparation time to be an isolated event. Speculation as to the extent or duration would, of course, be mere guesswork, but this is clearly part of an extended plan."

My lady scowled, irked at being corrected by the other woman.

"You quickly deduced the next step, I take it?" Miss Viola went on.

"Yes, I did. I was familiar with the terms of the trust. Upon turning twenty-one or marrying, Rena would have assumed control of the Searrs Foundation and its affiliated companies. The trust would have remained intact to prevent her husband from obtaining any legal authority over her holdings, but control would have been in her hands. A full accounting would have to be made, and Smith's authority terminated unless Rena chose to renew it after the transfer, so he would have no control over the accounting process." He paused before continuing. "I don't believe that it was the threat of exposure he feared. His scheme would have been too well set-up for that. I believe, instead, that it was the profits he was making from his embezzlement, plus his legitimate salary as trustee, as well as the power and prestige that came with the position, that were his motive."

"Perhaps the last one most of all. He would have gone from being one of the most powerful men in England's economy to an afterthought. There are people for whom power and status are more important than breathing."

"And whatever the reason, it all went away...just by murdering the girl he was supposed to protect," Trepoff said bitterly, clenching his fist.

"You should have brought the evidence to the police!" Lady Haruka declared. "We have to deal with a thief and a murderer. There's no place in our society for private vengeance."

"Be realistic, Inspector. What could the police do against the head of the Searrs Foundation? Smith had powerful friends throughout the financial and political world. The pressure on the police to drop the case would be enormous. And what proof would there be of murder, anyway? At worst, he might receive a prison term for the embezzlement—if he wasn't able to conceal his wrongdoing altogether behind a maze of financial manipulations. No, my way—the private way—was the only way to obtain justice for Rena. My only regret is that I didn't hold my temper and rid the world of him in some way that didn't end in my own hanging. I...I just couldn't do it, though, couldn't keep my hate in check when every time I saw him I thought of Rena as she looked after that riding accident." He flexed his right hand convulsively, clenching and unclenching in. "In one way...I suppose it's a relief. I'd always thought, _if I'd been there, if I'd rode out with her that morning, I could have done something—_but at least now I know her death wasn't my fault, and that her killer lies in Hell."

His smile as he said that was almost beatific, and a chill ran through me. No matter how many criminal cases Lady Haruka investigated, that was the one thing I could never get used to: the _satisfaction_ so many people seemed to take in committing their crimes. I didn't deny that I was sympathetic for Trepoff and the loss he'd suffered, but to kill a man out of hand and take pleasure in the deed, to have no qualms afterwards, I simply could not understand. Even if one believed that a person had to die, shouldn't there be some cost to it, some hesitation? Trepoff's original statement had indicated that he'd hesitated before the deed, but after, his only regret seemed to be that he'd been caught, combined with melancholy over the fate of Rena Searrs, but no guilt at all.

"So why did you burn the ledger, if you hated Smith so much?" my lady demanded. "Why try to destroy the only hard evidence of his crimes, the only thing you could offer up in your defense?"

"As, Miss Viola already deduced, I didn't want to make a scandal that would tarnish Alyssa's name. Rena loved her little sister—they were all alone in the world, after all, since their parents died—and I didn't want to add yet another layer of scandal and tragedy to her life by letting the whole, sordid story become a matter of public record."

"I believe you miscalculated," Miss Viola said. "The journalists who write the society columns, to say nothing of the gossips who will be trying to help _their_ daughters' chances when Miss Alyssa makes her come-out in a few years, will not be restrained by a lack of proof."

Lady Haruka was considerably less diplomatic about it. "The truth is obvious anyway, and trying to cover it up just lets malicious busybodies spew out even wilder and more offensive peculations."

"It's 'speculations,' Lady Haruka."

"You should also consider that your concealment causes Miss Alyssa a different kind of harm, in a real, tangible fashion."

"Viola, what _do_ you mean by—oh. The money."

"Exactly. Even to the Searrs Foundation, the money Mr. Smith stole isn't something to simply be ignored. That ledger was evidence that could have help Miss Alyssa's new trustee recover the stolen money from Mr. Smith's estate." She paused, as if in thought, then added, "Who is going to be the new Searrs trustee, incidentally? We'll have to tell him or her about Smith. Or will the Foundation directors choose someone?"

Trepoff shook his head.

"No, Rena told me that it was provided for by her father's will. If Smith resigned or was unable to serve, then the next trustee would be Father Greer."

"The local rector?"

"Yes; he, Mr. Searrs, and Smith all knew each other from their days at Cambridge."

"I see. That was sensible of the late Mr. Searrs to think ahead and consider the potential consequences."

Trepoff nodded, then smiled ruefully.

"Count dai Artai—Nagi's father, I mean—wasn't so farsighted, so his bankers in London and Naples will take over for me. Although I suppose you can't blame him; at my age, I wouldn't be expected to encounter trouble, since my adventuring days were over. He certainly couldn't have anticipated that I'd be hanged for murder. I'm just glad that Nagi's old enough now that he won't particularly miss me."

"You're not particularly close with Count dai Artai, then?" Miss Viola asked.

"No—he was twelve when his father died, and he knew me from before, so we never a relationship like a father and son." He chuckled wryly, and I couldn't help but think that a strong strain of fatalism ran through the Russian, to accept what had happened and even find the black humor in it. "At least this will show him that his 'Uncle Sergay' isn't as dull a fellow as he believed."

The consulting detective nodded at him.

"Oh, yes. There's nothing dull at all about this case." Her crimson eyes sparkled. "I think there are any number of developments still to come. I do hope that Natsuki has finished her sandwich; we have quite a bit still to do."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Resuming the Narrative of Natsuki Kuga**_

I actually did eat a sandwich, roast beef on fresh-baked bread with plenty of mayonnaise. On the one hand, it gave me a valid alibi if Shizuru later asked what I'd been doing, and on the other hand, well, she had a point. I _did_ get cranky...crankier?...when I missed meals. But, enjoy the food as I did, I ate fast and moved faster, because I wanted a chance to find out what I could without Shizuru peeking over my shoulder.

It was kind of ironic. Earlier, when we'd first spoken to Trepoff, I'd wanted to get him to say more, assuming that the cuff links and what they represented would be part of what the Russian was holding back. Now that there was a chance to make him talk, I was ducking out of the performance. Things had changed; the ledger pages and Shizuru's deductions made it likely that the murder had been about love, out of revenge for Rena Searrs, and whatever revelations Trepoff might make had nothing to offer me, regardless of how much light they might shine on the actual case.

Smith, though, was another story, and while it gnawed at me that the first person I'd managed to find with a connection to those damned cuff links was dead, I wasn't giving up. If there was one thing my acquaintance with Shizuru had taught me, it was that the old saw from pirate stories was completely wrong: dead men _did_ tell tales. Of course to her they spoke as loudly as if there was actually something in spiritualism, while to me it was more of a muted whisper, but even so...

_Even so, I'm going to get some answers._

The place to start was Smith's private study. Nagi dai Artai was an obnoxious brat, but he'd been right: for the most part financiers and businessmen tended to do things in a certain, predictable way. It was very likely that he would have a study that would serve as his private office to the extent that he did business in his home, and the fact that no one had thus far mentioned a secretary told me that he handled such matters as he did deal with at home by himself. That, in turn, suggested that what he did do here at Odessa as opposed to at the Searrs offices in London was confined to very private matters indeed, not the bulk correspondence he'd _need_ secretarial help to handle.

_See, Shizuru? I can deduce things, too._

Actually finding the study wasn't necessarily so easy, given the size of the place, but Odessa wasn't a crazy-quilt architectural nightmare like Warburton Grange had been. I guessed that it would be on the ground floor, probably at the rear of the house away from the clatter of traffic outside the front windows, and obviously nowhere near the kitchens and servants' quarters. I was right; indeed, the room was behind the second door I tried.

The room was almost generic in its presentation, all dark wood and polished brass, with a massive desk at one end of the room before the broad casement window, file cabinets ranging along one wall, seascapes on the other, and comfortable-looking red leather chairs for guests to sit in while discussing business. I ignored the file cabinets—they had neatly typed indexes indicating their alphabetical organization and I somehow doubted I'd find anything incriminating under 'Murderous Conspiracies' or 'Secrets'—and instead went right for the desk. I went around to the other side, where Smith would have sat, and tried to think like Shizuru. I only had a short time, I knew, and the way she took things in at a glance and sorted out the significant from the insignificant was exactly what I needed.

The first thing I saw was that I was in the right place. The pen set, ink bottle, and blotting-paper all showed definite signs of use. I checked the desk drawers and found a variety of stationery, all very expensive, some pre-printed with the Searrs Foundation's name and some not. An address book contained, unsurprisingly, addresses, with neat little tabs separating them alphabetically. I flipped through it, but there was no way of knowing what might or might not be important, unless—

_Wait a second._

I turned back, not sure if I'd really seen what I thought I'd seen, but I had: Addleton, Professor Lewis, with an address in St. John's Wood. There was nothing unusual about the entry, except that it was entered under the Os. Did it mean anything? Or was Smith just the careless sort of man who entered addresses randomly instead of properly organizing them? I looked through the book more carefully. The A section held only names starting with A, the B section only names starting with B, and so on. Everything was in perfect order. I turned back to O and found not just one, but six names that shouldn't have been there, randomly scattered throughout the entries.

_Why O? Who are these people, and why are they filed under O?_

There wasn't any handy answer to my question, but I figured that the weirdness of it had to mean _something_. Of course, that something might have nothing to do with anything that interested me, given the number of pies that Searrs had its fingers in, but even the possibility of a lead was a step in the right direction. I took a piece of paper out of the desk and copied down the names and addresses of Marco Ricoletti, Professor Lewis Addleton, Baron Theophile Maupertuis, Mrs. Amelia Abernetty, Duncan Crosby, and Major Ross Wilson. I blotted the note, folded it, and tucked it away in my reticule, then replaced the address book. I was just in time, as it turned out.

"So, it seems Miss Viola's assistant does more than just follow her around making cutting remarks."

I glanced at the white-haired boy who leaned insouciantly, bracing himself with one hand on the doorjamb.

"Was there something you wanted?"

The lazy smirk was back in place on Nagi's face. Apparently his momentary pique with me had passed, and he was back to mockery. I wasn't surprised. Whether they're actually as smart as they think or not, his type never believes they're not in complete control of a situation unless you're actually doing violence to them at that moment.

"Nothing that can't wait until I've seen you in action. I positively adore detective and crime fiction, you know. Raffles, Romney Pringle, Simon Carne, Arsene Lupin, fascinating characters."

"You do realize that everyone you just listed is a criminal."

"Dear me, I think you're right. Still, whether a gentleman thief or a private or amateur detective, the principle is the same, to succeed by their wits while leaving the official force utterly at fault. Isn't that what our Miss Viola is doing?"

"Shizuru isn't _your_ anything," I snapped at him.

"Touchy, touchy."

I didn't feel like getting into a war of words with the Count dai Artai. Among other things, I was fairly certain that I would lose. It was like talking to Shizuru, only with the addition of a nasty petulance all Nagi's own.

"Meanwhile, I need to get back to her. She should have gotten the full story out of Trepoff by now," I said, marching towards the door.

"Indeed? So Uncle Sergay was chivalrously holding things back from the police? How prosaic of him." He shrugged, a half-amused "what am I going to do with him?" kind of expression on his face. "Even when he breaks the law he does so in conventional fashion. I'll wager that there'll even be some reason for whatever he did, up to and including the murder, which comes right off the stage."

It was a mistake, but I stopped when I reached him.

"I thought you didn't believe Trepoff was guilty?"

"Of a hot-blooded stamping out of a bug over some business matter, certainly not. Ledger books at twenty paces, that would be a duel between those two. But some eminently respectable romantic reason in all the classic traditions of fiction, following even a well-worn path when he wanders off the straight and narrow, now that would be more his style." Nagi chuckled wryly. "It...so suits him."

"I'd have thought you'd have more loyalty to the man who raised you."

Nagi sniffed.

"You make it sound so...familial, Miss Kuga. Do try to remember that Uncle Sergay, despite my pet name for him, is a _paid employee_ of the dai Artai family. My father may have felt some personal loyalty to him—indeed, that is why he was chosen for the job—but do remember that he is only my guardian. Nothing, after all, can replace a parent."

I knew it had been a mistake. His shot, accidental as it was, hit home, and I flinched. Nagi noticed at once.

"Ah, but then perhaps you _do_ understand me, don't you? A Japanese name but mixed features, yes, I think you understand me quite well. Was it a generally missing father or a prematurely lost mother that you—urk!"

He was sharply cut off with a strangled gasp as my hand closed on his cravat, choking him off, while I shoved him up against the wall, hard.

"Still that viper's tongue of yours before someone cuts it off!" I snapped in his face. The smug grin didn't go away, though, and something twinkled in his eyes, a kind of sadistic glee.

"All right, all right!" He held up his open hands. "I cry _pax_, and say nothing more on the point!" I thought really hard about strangling him and hiding the body, but what might or might not have been good sense intervened, and I let go, stepping back while still glaring at him. Nagi stroked his cravat, patting the crushed folds back into place.

"It's hopeless," he decided. "I shall have to put on another. Ah, well, the social aspect of this party has been utterly ruined by the police as it is, so at the least it shall give me something to do for a quarter-hour or so." He paused, then glanced up into the force of my still-furious glare, something that not many people found the will to do. "If I were you, I would watch your temper, Miss Kuga. Some day you may find yourself needing someone's help, only to find that you've already burnt that bridge."

There was nothing I could say to that, so I snarled once and spun away from the Count, striding past him and the study door and down the hall. I was an idiot for having stopped to talk to him in the first place. Nagi was like a looking-glass reflection of Shizuru; they could make words mean anything or nothing as they felt, layering in meaningful hints that could have been innocuous remarks or casual comments that conveyed hidden secrets, but in him her kindness had been replaced by malice. Where Shizuru liked to tease, harmless unless by accidental blunder, Nagi enjoyed cruelty, watching me twitch like a butterfly pinned while still alive, leaving me twisting yet unable to firmly identify any specific thing that a third party could tell justified my anger. I was twice an idiot for losing my temper and giving him the entertainment he wanted, and I'd shot off my mouth about the case while doing so.

_And I can't even apologize to Shizuru for the last part, because I can't tell her that I was searching Smith's study._ That bothered me most of all, because it was starting to feel like a betrayal, like "privacy" had crossed over that shadowy line into "keeping secrets." That I was using her, and her investigation, all for my own sake.

But then again, I supposed that she was using me, too. It wasn't like Armitage had asked for _me_, or that I'd had any reason to come to Odessa that I'd actually known about at the time. I was here for Shizuru's sake, because she'd asked. I wasn't even sure why she liked me to come along on her cases; occasionally I pointed out something useful or contributed some feat of physical derring-do, but that was strictly a sideshow. Whatever it was she wanted from me, it wasn't professional in nature. Hell, for all I knew she just wanted an audience she could perform for, like an actress wanted fans to see her in multiple performances.

Or maybe she just wanted a friend, someone she could share her experiences with to keep from drowning in the constant sea of human misery life as a detective kept exposing her to.

Regardless, the point was that she wanted something from me that she wasn't saying. So it was mutual, this combination; where most friends gave to one another the things they needed, Shizuru and I were equally obliging to each other but didn't know what it was we were giving!

And yet, I couldn't help but wonder sometimes, if there wasn't room for a greater intimacy between us, a place for shared confidences, deeper trust...

_But that's not possible,_ I thought, _at least not while this business of my mother's murder is still ongoing._ Something in me shuddered away from that in horror. It was too close, too much a part of the inner _me_ to expose. And...I didn't want to expose Shizuru to it, either, to the whirlpool of pain and loss that had sucked me down since childhood.

I wondered, as I sometimes did, if she had a similar tragedy in her own past. What had, after all, brought a young woman of Japanese and Italian descent to London, let alone to create the profession of consulting detective for herself? Nagi had talked about a scandal—did he mean Shizuru's parents? Or something about Shizuru herself?

It didn't matter. If she wanted me to know, she'd tell me, and if she didn't, well, she was as entitled to her secrets as I was to mine. At least I wasn't going to be a hypocrite about it.

I found my way back to Trepoff's guest room. Shizuru was there waiting for me; there was no sign of the others.

"_Ara_, is Natsuki now well-fed?"

"Hey, some of us can't survive on tea alone."

She smiled at me.

"Tea stimulates the mind and refreshes the soul, providing clarity of thought. The act of preparing, serving, and drinking it creates a feeling of serenity and a needed calm amid the chaos of daily life. Mere food diverts the body's energy from the brain to the stomach; trying to think and digest simultaneously is like trying to carry on a conversation while listening to music. You cannot pay attention to one without neglecting the other."

"While _not_ eating, on the other hand, makes it hard to think because your brain is constantly distracted by thoughts of starvation," I shot back. "You went three days straight without eating on the Gruner case and nearly fainted while trying to explain to Kanzaki what the hell we were doing at the scene of a vitriol-throwing."

"_Ara_, you noticed that?"

"Yes, I noticed that, and if we're still stuck here this morning you're going to eat breakfast if I have to threaten you at gunpoint."

Shizuru's eyes were laughing.

"But Natsuki did not bring a revolver, did she?"

"Natsuki can follow Trepoff's example and borrow one from the gun room if she has to."

She pressed her hand to her chest in a theatrical gesture.

"I must submit, then, if Natsuki is so concerned for me that she would commit theft, assault, and weapons offenses all so that I properly take care of my health. I can scarcely imagine what kind of wife you would make."

I blushed, as was probably inevitable once the teasing started. "I-idiot! Taking care of you is enough work for anyone!" I expected some follow-up sally in response to that, but she didn't continue her teasing. _She probably wants to get back to work on the case_, I thought, almost regretting the end of the banter. After my worries about our relationship, it was kind of nice to return to just being ourselves again.

"A-anyway, what did Trepoff tell you? Was it what you thought?"

She nodded.

"As we suspected, he killed Smith because he had, in turn, killed Rena Searrs to cover up his defalcations. Or, I should say, he had her killed, for he very likely did not do it with his own hands. He held the information back to avoid making the scandal for the Searrs family any worse than it had to be."

"Or he was saving the revelation for the best dramatic effect at trial," I said cynically.

"In that case he would have retained the ledger intact, to present as evidence. Its attempted destruction was not faked for further emotional impact; the job done was too complete and insufficiently...artistic, shall I say, for that purpose. No, Mr. Trepoff appears to be exactly what he seems, a throwback to the gentlemen of two hundred years ago, with a strong sense of chivalry and honor and a hot temper in their defense. In that day, he'd have demanded satisfaction from Smith rather than murdering him outright, but aside from German university students eager to prove their manhood with sabers, the duel is largely a lost art."

I couldn't help but snort.

"And well gone, I say. If you're going to kill someone, then kill them, don't pretty it up with a lot of ceremony and giving them a chance to kill you back. And if it's not _worth_ killing over, than all that dueling does is make people try to use violence to avenge petty insults, which is just stupid. I'm not surprised men thought the whole thing up; it's nothing but a hymn to pride."

I was being completely serious, but it made Shizuru giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"Natsuki's opinion of men."

"I just think it's stupid when they turn important things into an excuse to butt heads like rams in rut," I grumbled. "...Damn it, Shizuru, stop _laughing_!"

When she managed to get herself back under control, she went on to tell me the rest of what had happened with Trepoff in their interview. I followed most of it up until she got to the end. That was where she lost me.

"I don't see what you're driving at, Shizuru. Isn't the case over now? Trepoff killed Smith, and now we know why he did it. What's left to investigate?"

Her smile widened, warm with friendly amusement.

"And Natsuki accuses _me_ of teasing."

"I'm not joking, Shizuru."

Surprise—genuine, honest surprise—wreathed her face.

"You truly do not understand?"

"Um...no." Usually I was glad when I was able to surprise Shizuru; her intellect and perception made it difficult to catch her out and even when I did she usually had the self-control to conceal it. I wasn't so happy this time, though, given that I'd apparently surprised her with my appalling stupidity.

She pursed her lips.

"Natsuki, is something wrong?"

I didn't know how to answer that. I couldn't tell her the truth—that Smith's life interested me much more than his death. My usual response would have been something like, _No, nothing's wrong; I'm just not such a genius as you are, is that all right with you_, but Shizuru didn't deserve for me to snap at her like that—not when something genuinely _was_ wrong that had distracted me and put me off my game.

I ran my hand through my hair, then sighed.

"I had a long day today, okay?" I said, realizing that it was actually true and how tired and sick of it all I'd felt walking back down Baker Street before Armitage's telegram had come. It had only been a few short hours ago, but it had seemed like an eternity. "I'd been looking forward to getting off my feet and settling in to one of Mrs. Hudson's dinners, and instead I'm knee-deep in one of your investigations. I'm just not at my best, here. So could you please just explain to me why it is that this case isn't closed?"

She looked at me for a long time.

"I didn't think of that," she finally said. "_Kannin na_, Natsuki; I never even waited for you to say yes after inviting you to join me for this case."

"Don't apologize; you didn't hear me saying no, did you?"

"But I deliberately held back details to excite your curiosity, to manipulate you into coming along, and I didn't even think about how you were feeling."

"I'm a grown woman, Shizuru, not a little girl. If I really don't want to do something, I won't, no matter how much you tease, cajole, or whimper at me. I _wanted_ to come along and help you if I could. All I'm asking is that if there's stuff I need to know, _tell_ me, because at this point I'm not sure I can figure out my own name."

Shizuru considered this for another long moment, then nodded.

"Very well, Natsuki, if you truly think this way."

"I do. So tell me what's happening, and we'll see if I need to be embarrassed for missing something obvious or if it's like so much of what you do, obvious only _after_ you explain it."

She perked up, pleased by my indirect compliment.

"It is just this: we know why Trepoff killed Smith, because the ledger told him that Smith was stealing from the Searrs Foundation and he deduced that Smith had Rena Searrs killed to conceal it. If Trepoff is telling the truth, Smith even admitted it at gunpoint. That is all very neat and tidy, but what about that ledger? Where did it come from? Who gave it to Trepoff? Why didn't they identify themselves? And how did that person get it in the first place? Was she a confederate of Smith's in his crimes? Or was it an accidental discovery? Why was it given to Trepoff rather than to the police—because it incriminated the giver? Or because they didn't want official involvement? And perhaps most interesting of all, why _now_? Why not post it to Trepoff? Why give it to him while he was here at this house, under the same roof as Smith?"

I blinked at the tumbling stream of questions.

"I see what you meant about there being more to learn. Do you have any leads?"

She waved a hand dismissively.

"I can postulate a half-dozen explanations that reasonably fit the facts and many more that aren't specifically ruled out, but there is no way to choose between them. We need data with which to form our theories. Oh, yes, Natsuki, this investigation is most definitely not yet complete."


	7. Chapter 7

"So where are you going to start?" I asked Shizuru as we walked through the hall.

"I think with Father Joseph Greer. I must admit, a country rector is not the sort of man I would expect to be named guardian of an heiress and trustee of a commercial empire. If _cui bono_ is the question that concerns us, then he certainly is the one who profits most from Smith's death."

"It is an odd choice."

"The Bible teaches that once cannot serve both God and Mammon. I wonder if Father Greer shall soon find himself caught between two masters."

"Or if he already has," I commented. "What's Armitage doing, by the way?"

"I believe that she intends to check into Smith's business correspondence and files to try to find evidence of the scope of the embezzlement scheme. It is, after all, a serious crime, and as she has her murderer in custody, she is most interested now in exposing any perpetrators of this second infraction. I suspect we may well meet in the middle at some point."

"That's actually clever," I noted. "As a policewoman, she needs to investigate the actual crime in front of her, but she has you here to poke into the leftover pieces of the murder case to sort out if it's actually something she needs to worry about or if it's only a matter of intellectual curiosity."

"And Natsuki claims that she isn't thinking clearly."

"I just didn't think Armitage could be that subtle."

"If it's a matter of intelligent investigation, then she will find a way. Her weakness is a lack of imagination preventing her from seeing the subtleties in _other_ people's relationships. She doesn't need imagination to know what her _own_ thoughts are."

That mostly made sense, I decided. Armitage wanted to know A, B, and C; she had to look at A, so she asked Shizuru to investigate C for her. The only subtlety was in us figuring out her reasons.

I wondered if she'd find the addresses misfiled under O, and if so what it meant. If she did, I might end up benefiting from her investigation without having to reveal why I wanted to know. That was a happy thought, and it brightened the evening as we went in search of Father Greer.

We found the rector in a sitting-room appointed in feminine fashion, a book open on his lap. He was not alone, though; on the sofa was a young woman of around eighteen, with silvery blond hair and narrow, angular eyes, as well as a golden-haired child of ten or so.

"Father Greer?"

The man put his book aside, slipping a ribbon into it to mark his page, and rose to greet us.

"I am."

"My name is Shizuru Viola, and this is my associate, Natsuki Kuga."

"I hope that I can be of service. May I in turn present my daughter Miyu and Miss Alyssa Searrs?"

"I am honored to meet you." Shizuru curtseyed gracefully to the child, and I followed her lead.

"Miss Shizuru Viola?" Alyssa asked. Her voice was eerily calm. "The consulting detective from London?"

"Yes, that's correct."

She nodded.

"I see. Please go on."

Her manner was like nothing I'd expected to see. In contrast to what Nagi had said about Trepoff, Smith effectively _had_ been this child's father, hadn't he? I'd have expected her to be fearful or distraught, not this eerie, unnatural calm that might, perhaps, have been shock.

Shizuru did not comment on this, but turned back to Father Greer.

"Father, I understand that you will now assume control of the Searrs Foundation and become Miss Alyssa's guardian?"

He nodded.

"That is so. David Searrs, John Smith, and I were the best of friends in our university days, and though our lives took different paths we remained close. John, of course, was a high-ranking officer within the family holdings that became the Searrs Foundation, so it isn't a surprise that he'd be chosen to supervise the financial aspects, but I've always been involved in family matters."

"So it isn't by accident that you have the living here."

"Quite the contrary, it was requested by John, so that my late wife and I would be close at hand to assist with Miss Rena and Miss Alyssa."

That explained some of Alyssa's actions, though I was a bit surprised to learn of the men's college ties. Greer looked substantially older than had the corpse, with hair that had gone gray, worn long and a bit unkempt, and a lined, weathered face that looked as if it had seen many years of hardship and toil.

"You were aware that you were next in line, then?"

Father Greer nodded.

"It was never a secret. David was quite clear in his desires, even before his death. With holdings the size of the Searrs family's, it was wise to be comprehensive in his plans. Though God determined that his time on this earth was short, his foresight was rewarded in the care for his children."

I managed to swallow my reaction to that statement, but it turned out that I hadn't needed to, as Shizuru dove right in.

"I am afraid that may not be the case, Father," she said. "In our investigation into Mr. Smith's shooting, we have uncovered a number of disturbing facts about his behavior as trustee."

"Disturbing? In what way?"

"He was robbing the Foundation blind," I put it bluntly. Greer gaped in shock, real or feigned. I wondered about the truth of his feelings because his daughter _didn't_ react, other than by a slight narrowing of her eyes, which I realized were the same scarlet shade as my friend's. That was an odd coincidence.

"I can't believe that!" declared the rector. "The Foundation was more than just a job to John; it was a sacred trust left in his hands by a dear friend."

"Nevertheless, the facts seem plain. Moreover, Sergay Trepoff admits that Mr. Smith confessed as much in their final confrontation."

"He killed Rena, didn't he, Miss Viola?"

The three of us turned to Alyssa, surprised.

"That's why Mr. Trepoff shot him, isn't it?"

Shizuru didn't hesitate or mince words to the child, which surprised me a bit.

"Yes, that is what he claims."

Alyssa nodded once, sharply.

"Then I'm glad he did it." She reached out one small hand to Miyu Greer, who took it between hers. "I'm _glad_, do you hear me?"

The facade cracked then, and tears filled the child's eyes; Miyu gathered her into her arms and Alyssa began to cry. Miyu softly stroked her golden hair, offering what comfort she could.

"Alyssa loved Rena very much," the young woman said. "She was utterly devastated when Rena was killed."

"I'm sorry that I had to be so direct."

"No, you were right, Miss Viola. She deserved the truth. It's always best to be honest, and now she won't waste her grief on a man who doesn't deserve it."

"Miyu!" Father Greer found his voice. "You shouldn't say such things. If, God forbid, it could happen, then it is not our place to judge."

"The Lord may forgive him," Miyu began, but bit off the rest of that sentence. It was plain to see that in this girl Alyssa Searrs had a truly dedicated guardian, one who cared for the child first. At least in that way, Father Greer's inheriting the role of trustee would be good for the girl, though cynically I wondered if his management of the Foundation would cost it more through inexperience than Smith had through treachery. But then again, maybe Greer had hidden depths, and it wasn't like high churchmen didn't come into contact with the management of significant financial holdings.

"I just can't believe it," he repeated.

"As to the murder, I can't say that there's any hard proof, but the financial misdealings are shown by evidence."

"I...I don't know what to say. There will have to be a complete investigation into the matter..." He took a deep breath, then seemed to gather himself. "Miss Viola, I suppose that you are absolutely certain of what you are saying?"

_Someone doesn't want to accept this,_ I thought. Though, I could hardly blame him. It wasn't the kind of thing one wanted to think about an old friend: thief, murderer, and perhaps most of all betrayer. That was the worst one to most of us, I thought. I mean, everyone has secrets, and some of those secrets are even pretty serious things. I'd done stuff in my youth, after all, that was technically criminal. I was pretty certain that Shizuru had any number of secrets in her own past, for her part. But my secrets weren't _about_ her or our relationship. You could be a good friend while keeping secrets. Hell, you could be a good friend without even being a particularly good person.

"I am. I'm sorry, Father Greer, that I have to be the bearer of such bad news, but it is the truth. You can verify what I'm telling you with Inspector Armitage."

Greer nodded.

"I see. Then it seems I must resign myself to losing a friend twice in two days, first in the flesh and now in the spirit. But I shall pray for him, that in death God may let him see with the eyes of the man he once was and offer him the chance to repent his sins. Good evening, Miss Viola, Miss Kuga."

"Good evening, Father, Miss Greer, Miss Searrs. Oh, Miss Greer, one question, if I may. Yesterday evening, when the men were in the sitting room with their cigars after dinner, what did the ladies do?"

"We played bridge. Lady Beaumont is an avid player, as is Miss Maria; Mrs. Coxley and I made up the foursome."

"Thank you."

She nodded.

"Father, I am going to take Alyssa to bed now."

"Yes, perhaps that would be best. It is getting late."

At the mention of her name, the child turned away from Miyu's breast and looked at Shizuru with red-rimmed eyes.

"Miss Viola, if you can do anything to help Sergay, please do it. He loved my sister as much as I did, and whatever happened, it was for her sake."

"I will try my best. He chose his own path, but I think he had help in doing so."

We left the sitting room.

"Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice said," Shizuru noted. "Now, where would the card room be?"

"The card room? You think the bridge game Miss Greer mentioned has something to do with this?"

Shizuru gave one of her enigmatic smiles.

"The game? No, not exactly, but perhaps the scoring can enlighten us."

"Do you know how irritating that can be?"

"_Ikezu_," she said, pouting. "Natsuki will not allow me to have even a little fun?"

"Idiot." Shizuru would always be Shizuru. "Can you give me a hint, at least?"

"_Ara_, when Natsuki abandoned me for mayonnaise?"

I blushed, hoping she'd based that on her knowledge of my tastes and not on my breath.

"It is interesting, though, that a woman of German and naturalized British descent should so enjoy a French creation," she continued.

"Consider it my contribution to international diplomacy."

"You _are_ feeling better. The sandwich must have done you quite a bit of good."

Finding the first shadow of a clue I'd had in weeks had helped me more, as had our little clear-the-air session when we'd met up, but the principle applied either way.

"A hint, then." She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then tapped her lower lip with a finger. No doubt she was having all kinds of fun putting on the "deep thinking" act for my benefit, and I felt a little grin tease at the corners of my mouth. Really, the woman was incorrigible!

"Very well," she decided. "When we just spoke to the Greers and Miss Alyssa, we made a number of revelations. Their reactions, however, were perhaps even more revealing."

"Father Greer seemed surprised enough," I said. "His daughter didn't, but I have a feeling she'd keep her head if the manor fell in like the House of Usher. The little girl was positively eerie. I'm almost glad she broke down at the end; it's almost unnatural for a sheltered and protected child to be so calm about death." I thought it over, then amended my thought. "Or maybe not; she's kind of like royalty in a way. There's that whole pride of place thing going on, but even so..."

Then I got it.

"They already knew, didn't they? Miyu Greer said "when Rena _was killed_,' not 'when Rena _died_.' They knew, or least thought they knew, that it hadn't been an accident, for a while now so that it had time to become the way they thought about it. That's why Alyssa's manner was so weird. She only cried when you confirmed what she'd believed all along. She wasn't upset or afraid about Smith's murder because she was sure it was the right thing to happen; it made her _happy_."

My eyes widened involuntarily as I realized why Shizuru was interested in the bridge room.

"The handwriting, that's it, isn't it? You want to see if Trepoff recognizes it as being similar to that on the package."

Shizuru nodded.

"There are other, perhaps easier ways, but I admit to wanting to be clever and not have to come out and ask for a sample to compare by. Of course, since Trepoff burned the wrappings along with the ledger, we don't have the real sample to compare it with ourselves. Unfortunately, that appeared to be burnt to ash instead of just charred, so at best he can only give us his impression. Too, a sensible person would try to disguise their hand, and a skilled job of it would only show up on a careful examination. Still, _they_ don't know that he burned the wrapping, so a bluff might work."

"I don't know," I said dubiously. "I don't think that Miyu, or Alyssa either, would be easy to bluff."

She thought it over.

"Natsuki may be right. Still, they gave more away than they intended in the conversation."

"There's also the question of whether Father Greer is involved," I pointed out. I was definitely starting to get into the mood for the case more; what Shizuru had implied about my _wit_ waking up apparently applied to my _wits_ as well. "If the girls didn't just steal the ledger from Smith directly, which they might have done, then Greer would be the most likely person to get it from. He claimed not to know what Smith was up to, though, and I can't imagine that he's _that_ good an actor. Could he really just be that ignorant of finance that the numbers didn't mean anything to him? I mean, _I_ wouldn't necessarily know it if just dropped into my lap, but if I had an insider's perspective on the Searrs Foundation...Or did he? Maybe he just concerned himself with parish affairs and let Smith handle the business?" I ran my hand through my hair. "There's too many possibilities!"

"Well, if he had the ledger, then he would logically know what was in it. He would have no innocent reason to have possession of the secret records of Smith's criminal doings."

"Why would Smith even keep records like that? Why write down evidence that would convict him of theft?"

"Because no one could keep all the details straight in their head, and without such details they would inevitably make a mistake in their scheme. And, as in the Vamberry case, one is unlikely to discover such records unless already suspicious enough of wrongdoing to make a search."

"That's a good point. The second set of books were the evidence that led to a conviction in that case, but you solved it first and then sent the Yard to go find the proof that you were right. But yeah, you're right about Father Greer; if he had the ledger, then he must have been aware of the embezzlement, if not the murder."

"Or, he might be just as he seemed, utterly innocent. No doubt Inspector Armitage will discover which one when she investigates the extent of Smith's financial peccadilloes."

"But either way, you believe that Miss Greer wrote the note? Or was it Alyssa herself?"

"Well, I can hardly say, without data. Either might have done it, independently or together."

"And there's whether they did it themselves or if Father Greer dictated to them."

Shizuru stopped in her tracks.

"Natsuki, what was that?"

"I just asked if the girls were on their own or if Father Greer dictated what to write."

She flung her arms around my shoulders and hugged me tight.

"H-hey, Shizuru!" I babbled, wondering where the sudden affection had come from.

"That's it, Natsuki!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. Her breath tickled my cheek, her face was so close when she spoke.

"It is?" I was completely confused by her words and her enthusiasm both.

"Yes, of course!" She stepped back away from me. "I'm an idiot not to have seen it earlier, really I am. If you hadn't spoken up I'd have gone right along in a mental fog. Truly, Natsuki, you are my light when I am lost in darkness."

I blushed; the compliment was really too effusive for me to just accept out of hand, though I was flattered that she'd say something like that, too.

"Shizuru, that's not...I mean, I don't even know what it was that I said."

She beamed at me.

"Dictation, Natsuki."

"Huh?" was my brilliant reply.

"Exactly! Once I pictured the scene in my mind of someone dictating the note, I knew who it was that had written it."


	8. Chapter 8

I still had no idea what Shizuru was talking about, but figured that I'd find out on the way. She rang for the housekeeper, and in a few minutes the matronly, apple-cheeked woman appeared.

"How may I help you, miss?"

"I just have two questions."

"Anything, miss. We're all hoping that you'll be able to clear up this terrible business. Poor Miss Alyssa! To have all this happen now, when it's not even two years since her sister's passing." The woman shook her head sadly. I thought it was telling that her thoughts were for Alyssa and not for the murdered man, though it might just have been the sensible attitude of caring for the living while the dead were beyond human concerns.

"Very well. In the first place, are the servants here at Odessa literate?"

She beamed with pride.

"Yes we are, Miss. The late Mrs. Searrs, God rest her soul, believed everyone should have a basic education and made sure to start right at home, and it's been kept up since."

"I'm glad to hear it. In that case, can you tell me how long the chambermaid named Nina has worked here?"

"Nina? Oh, nigh on five years now. She started in the scullery when she was just a wee thing, you see, and since she was a good worker, she's been moved to better positions as she's aged."

"Can you tell me where she is now?"

"Well, things are all at sixes and sevens, what with the _police_ running about everywhere." She said the word with distaste, as if the minions of the law were some kind of blot on the house's social status. It wasn't an uncommon attitude, among masters and servants both. Shizuru had once explained it all to me, with references to historical opposition to a professional police and its association with a standing army, combined with the incompetence of the watchmen and the embedded dishonesty of the "thief-takers" who worked for blood-money from before the time of Sir Robert Peel's Metropolitan Police. Most of it had gone in one ear and out the other, since it amounted to "nice households don't want the police around." I wondered if that extended to someone like Armitage, with her blue blood.

"I can only imagine," Shizuru replied gently. "A house-party is a difficult enough matter without adding all these extra people, who insist on going through everything for evidence and preventing your staff from doing a proper job."

"We won't let that stop us, though," the woman said firmly. "Miss Alyssa has already been through so much tragedy, the least we can do is make sure everything is properly taken care of for her in her home." She drew herself up proudly. "Even if there are police constables in the way and the mistress's guardian murdered like that."

"Then Nina would be working now?"

She nodded.

"Yes, indeed. She'll be changing the linens on the guest beds, like as not."

"I see. Thank you very much."

"Will that be all, then, miss?"

"Yes, it will. I'm sorry to have taken you away from your duties when you're so busy."

"Thank you, miss." She bobbed her head and started towards the door, then stopped and turned back to Shizuru, her composure cracking.

"Miss, you can't be thinking that Nina would be involved in anything like murder, can you? She's a good, kind girl who would never do something so awful, particularly to the head of the household. It just isn't possible!"

Shizuru didn't contradict her or explain our belief that murdering Smith might well have been in Alyssa's best interests. All she said was, "I appreciate knowing your opinion of her. It helps to know those involved in a case from the point of view of those who know them. As an outsider, I can only see them as if they were players on a stage, and that limits me."

She seemed to take this favorably.

"Thank you, miss."

Shizuru shook her head.

"No, thank you for all your help, and for answering what must seem like meaningless questions."

The housekeeper drew herself up proudly.

"Well, I know my duty to the mistress, I'm sure," she declared.

With that, she left the room.

"Interesting, isn't it," Shizuru mused, "the way she definitely considers herself to be working for Alyssa, even though it was Smith who controlled the staff and could hire or dismiss whom he liked. Generally speaking, the attitudes of the butler and housekeeper will also be those held by the lower staff, and the better-run the household the more likely that is to hold true."

I wasn't particularly interested in that, not while there was something more important.

"Never mind that, Shizuru. Are you trying to tell me that it was Nina who left the ledger for Trepoff?"

"It was obvious that she wrote the note," Shizuru said. "I can only claim that the oddity of a guilty man trying, in essence, to make his position worse had distracted me."

Since it wasn't particularly self-evident to _me_, I didn't feel all that happy about Shizuru's claiming that it was.

"It can't be too obvious, since Armitage missed it too," I pointed out.

"Natsuki is now holding me to the standard of a Scotland Yard inspector?" she gasped, then pouted.

"Idiot," I muttered, the only proper response for her teasing. "But what was it that told you? Was it because she'd built up the fire in Trepoff's room, trying to finish the job of destroying the evidence? And why would she do it, anyway? That loyalty to Alyssa you were talking about? A kind of, I don't know, servants' conspiracy to make away with the wicked guardian? Wait, no, you don't need to correct me this time," I realized the flaw at once. "If the servants as a group were responsible, they could have made away with Smith at any time, especially when there weren't a bunch of guests underfoot and they could alibi each other so it would be seen as an accident or a burglar's work. They wouldn't need to involve Trepoff at all; that would just serve to overcomplicate matters.

Shizuru nodded.

"That's very true."

"But Nina has feelings for Trepoff...so maybe she alone found the incriminating evidence and gave it to him because she thought of him first? But no, why not give it to him in person? There'd be no chance of a mistake, then, plus it'd give her a good chance to be with the man she cared for, working together on something important to them both. She's not likely to miss that."

"That is also quite true," Shizuru agreed. We were on our way back to the guest rooms, and I supposed that I'd get my answer soon enough when she confronted Nina, but I couldn't keep myself from trying. Besides which, it irked me to keep hearing her agree with my comments on what was _wrong_ with my ideas. I kept thinking it over, and then something else struck me.

"Wait a second, Shizuru. You said that it was Nina who gave the ledger to Trepoff, but that doesn't seem right. Sure, Nina can read and write and probably do figures too since the housekeeper said she'd had a 'basic education,' but we're talking about complicated financial records, records of a business that handles more money than some Continental governments. I mean, you'd have to be the Rothschilds or some of those American 'robber barons' to rival the Searrs Foundation. I know I'd never be able to sort through a ledger like that and spot the things that meant Smith was embezzling, but the ledger was annotated in red ink! You said that Trepoff told you it was given to him that way, didn't you?"

"Yes, he did."

"There's no way a housemaid could have done that! You'd need education, experience in accounting, an understanding of business practice...if Nina could do all that then she's some kind of financial savant who should be managing investments for the Foundation, not making beds!"

"I agree."

"You do? But if you agree, then how can it be Nina who gave Trepoff the ledger?"

"You are misinterpreting my words, Natsuki." She smiled at me. "But I shall let you think it over until we talk with Nina, when it will become clear to you."

I sighed. But then, that was Shizuru for you. I wondered what it was I'd misinterpreted; she'd seemed pretty clear.

The house guests seemed to be nowhere in sight, and I wondered if because of the police investigation it had been decided to eschew the formality of dressing for dinner and dine _en famille_, or if instead they'd just pushed the meal back. Come to think of it, though, Trepoff had mentioned that the dinner hour had been late, Town hours rather than the earlier time usually seen in the country. For whatever reason, though, the only people in the guest rooms were maids, busily changing the linens and attending to other matters of the guests' comfort.

We found Nina easily enough, in the room appointed to the Beaumonts. She squeaked in surprise when Shizuru spoke, as we'd slipped in quietly.

"Pardon me, Nina."

"Oh! Miss Viola! I'm sorry that I didn't hear you. Um...I'm not doing something that I'm not supposed to again, am I?" A slight hint of defiance crept into her voice at the very end, as if she was sure of her ground and tired of being criticized.

"No, you're not, but we do need to speak with you."

"What about, miss?"

"There are several things, actually. But let us start with the matter of Mr. Trepoff's room, since you brought it up. The Count dai Artai's interruption and the mention of uncomfortable subjects cut our discussion short, but are you aware that after that, we discovered important evidence in the fireplace? A ledger-book that someone had tried to burn?"

She flinched.

"I didn't know anything about a book!" she protested.

"And yet, if you'd been able to build up the fire as you tried to do, that evidence would have been completely destroyed. Evidence which, I may add, might well be the difference that saves Mr. Trepoff from hanging."

The shot hit home with lethal accuracy. The girl's eyes went as wide as saucers, her face grew ash-pale, and she lifted her trembling hands to her cheeks.

"No...no, you're not saying...I couldn't! I couldn't do that to him, I couldn't!" she stammered and wailed.

"You were building a fire," Shizuru pressed on remorselessly. "A fire that would have destroyed the evidence. A fire in a room that you had been forbidden to enter on orders of the police." There was a constable on guard there now, on Armitage's orders, in case anyone else had the same lack of respect for her instructions.

"It was cold! I just...I just wanted Mr. Trepoff to be comfortable, that's all! I wasn't trying to destroy evidence. I didn't even know that there was anything there!"

"Mr. Trepoff? Not the other guests, then?"

"I...That is..." She blushed brightly, turning as red as anyone I'd seen who was not me. Shizuru had that kind of effect on people.

"Count dai Artai, in his inimitable way, is right, isn't he? You do care for Mr. Trepoff, don't you?" she said, more gently. "He is a handsome enough gentleman, and he's had quite an exciting past, from what people say. Did it start when he was courting Miss Searrs, perhaps?"

"I...it..."

"There'd be no harm in it, of course, a girl's hopes. We've all had those kind of dreams, you know, a passion conceived for someone we know that we have no chance to form a genuine contact with." That rather surprised me to hear; was she telling the truth or just spinning a tale for Nina's benefit? "But then it changed, didn't it? Miss Searrs died. While she was still alive, you only watched from afar. A prince and princess, after all, are well-suited for one another. But when the princess passed on, you began to dream, didn't you, Nina?"

"I don't know what...what you mean, Miss Viola."

Shizuru ignored her denial, something that didn't take a detective's skill to deduce was a lie.

"It's a common enough story, the servant girl who catches the prince's eye—and in reality, such things are not completely impossible. After all, Mr. Trepoff is _not_ royalty, but a foreign adventurer, of charming manner and good family but more distinguished in his connections than his birth. That his heart might find room in it for a serving-girl would not be ruled out just out of hand."

Given Trepoff and Nina's difference in age, I certainly _hoped_ it could be ruled out. Still, Shizuru wasn't describing what _would_ happen, just the way it had played out in Nina's mind. I hadn't had any girlish romantic dreams of my own at her age, but I could see how the maid might have done so.

"That's not—it isn't—"

"Nina," Shizuru chided, "it's not a nice thing to tell lies. And Mr. Trepoff has been arrested for murder. You can't hold back any of the truth now, not if you want to help him."

That plea did it, as I'm sure Shizuru had known it would. Nina hung her head.

"It's true, Miss Viola. I...I do love Mr. Trepoff. But he's always been a perfect gentleman!" she hastened to explain. "He's never tried...he never made any kind of advances to me or to the other girls, truly!"

"Of course; you wouldn't have fallen in love with a cad, after all," Shizuru observed. "Still, his visits to Odessa would become less common over time, without Miss Searrs to draw him here. You were aware of this, knowing that any given visit might be the last time you saw him. So, in the words of Shakespeare, you screwed your courage to the sticking place and decided to act. You poured your feelings out on paper and wrote Mr. Trepoff a love note."

_Now_ I understood what Shizuru had been getting at! The language on the package label had of course been that of a love letter, not a conspirator or informant. Of course Miyu Greer wouldn't have written to him with that kind of salutation. Shizuru couldn't be sure it was the maid, since there were several other ladies present, but given Nina's known feelings, easy access to the room, and surprising literacy, it was certainly the most likely possibility.

That didn't explain why she'd called it a "note," though. I mean, a package was not a note, unless Shizuru was working her way around to it, admission by admission. She and I did, after all, have very different interrogation styles. Then again, my style of questioning someone usually involved a bribe, a firearm, or both. How Shizuru could get people to reveal sensitive or personal information without any incentives (and often without even knowing they were doing it) continually impressed me.

Nina let out a deep sigh.

"I did," she admitted.

"I take it that you placed it in his room?"

She nodded.

"It was easy to do so in the course of my duties; I slipped away for a couple of minutes and left it on his pillow."

"And when did you do this?"

"Sometime around half past three," Nina answered. "The clock in the library downstairs chimed the half-hour just as I was getting back to what I was supposed to be doing."

"I see. Now, I presume that Mr. Trepoff has not had a chance to speak with you about your note, since he scarcely had a free moment before the shooting."

"No, he hasn't." Nina smiled sadly at her. "But...I don't truly expect anything from him, not really. I mean, I hoped, I really did, but...I know that it's a dream, not a serious ideal. What's most important is that I found the courage to let him know of my feelings, that I'm not hiding and praying for him to notice me."

I had to approve of that. I mean, why should a girl wait for some stupid guy to notice her like he was picking out a sweet from a shop? Though it took a lot of courage to open yourself up that way. _Whom am I kidding?_ I thought. _If I ever fell in love, I probably wouldn't even notice for a year, and as for telling that person, I'm more lucky to open up to Shizuru about my past!_

"So that's the last you know about it, then? You gave him the note at half past three, and since then there's been nothing?"

She nodded.

"That's right, Miss Viola. Does...does this help Mr. Trepoff in any way?"

"It very well may. At the least, it helps to clarify the sequence of events for me and supports his story."

"Of course it does! Mr. Trepoff would never lie to the police!"

"He did keep several details back until Shizuru found proof of what he was hiding," I pointed out.

"That isn't the same thing as a lie," Nina defended him at once.

"Not in this case," Shizuru said, "when his omissions did nothing to deceive anyone. In any event, thank you very much, Nina, for your candor."

"Yes, Miss Viola." It was clearly a dismissal and Nina took it as one, bobbing a curtsey and turning to go resume her duties. Shizuru let her get nearly to the door before she spoke up again.

"Oh, Nina, I did have one more question. You said that you built up the fire in Mr. Trepoff's room because it was getting cold, but obviously he didn't have a chance to complain about it since he was in police custody during last night and all day today. I didn't feel particularly uncomfortable myself in the guest wing"—I had no doubt that was true; _I_ hadn't even noticed the temperature myself—"so I doubt that it came to you on your own. Did someone mention to you that the room was cold?"

"Yes, miss, or, well, no, not exactly, but in a manner of speaking."

"You overheard someone?"

"Yes, Miss Viola. You know how some people will speak in front of servants as if we aren't even in the room?"

"I do."

"Well, I was passing through one of the downstairs halls this afternoon when I heard Mr. Coxley complaining to the Count dai Artai about the inconvenience of having to be confined to the house. The Count responded that he didn't see how Mr. Coxley could want to go outside in the cold weather when it was already so chilly inside, that his bedroom was like ice when he dressed that morning. Mr. Coxley made a joke about hot-blooded Italians not being suited for an English winter—begging your pardon, miss—but it made me think about how Mr. Trepoff's room is next to the Count's."

"I see. Thank you, Nina."

When the girl had gone, I turned to Shizuru.

"Not one word about how the 'hot-blooded Italian' I live with handles the cold much better than I do," I warned.

"I wouldn't think of it," she said, her angelic face fooling no one. Seeing my look of patent disbelief, she added, "No, seriously, I wouldn't. At least, not when I can see Inspector Armitage's reaction to the solution of the crime."


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm not saying that I won't go along with you," Haruka Armitage grumbled. "I'm just saying that you'd better be right or all of us are going to be in for it."

"But isn't that why Scotland Yard prefers to assign you to these sensitive cases involving the nobility, Inspector, so that you can soothe the ruffled feathers of the social elite?" Shizuru asked innocently.

"Sure, poking and prying in their personal lives and asking indiscreet questions comes better from someone with a title, but we're talking about accusing someone of a capital offense."

"Well, perhaps that would be somewhat socially awkward," Shizuru admitted. "I shall have to rely on your natural aplomb to carry us through."

Armitage glanced at me.

"Is she like this with you, too?"

"You have no idea."

"_Ara_, so harsh, and when I am providing you with the solution to the mystery, as well."

"That part we'll see about. Right now, all you've got is a tangential case."

"It's 'theoretical,' Lady Haruka, although in actuality 'tangential' might also be accurate depending on the circumstances."

"Perhaps so, Inspector, but I'm sure that you'd agree that my 'theories' have been rather useful to you in the past," Shizuru pointed out.

"Yeah, when they pointed me to _evidence_. Right now you're just running off at the mouth."

"Did you have any disagreement with my reasoning?"

"...No."

"And, can you see any reasonable way in which any tangible proof or witness testimony could be recovered?" Shizuru pressed.

"No, damn it, I don't, which is why I'm going to let you have a go at your little scheme. I'm just saying that if you don't pull this off, a murderer will go free and we'll all be in the soup for it, you most of all."

"Being an amateur, a foreigner, and lacking a title," Shizuru agreed. "_Ara_, but the English are such harsh people."

Personally, I thought Armitage was being positively generous to let Shizuru try this at all. Given the risks and the likelihood of success, her dedication to justice had to be bloody strong to convince her. I glanced at Chrysant; her worried face told me plenty about how the risks were pointed at the Inspector as well as at Shizuru.

We stopped outside the door to the library.

"Are we going to do this or yap about it?" I asked sourly. As always, the likelihood of things going off the rails always made me crabby.

Armitage grabbed the handle.

"It's your show, Viola," she said, and threw the door open.

If their library was anything to judge by, the Searrs family was extremely well-read. It reminded me more of something from a university or the British Museum, or perhaps a gentleman's club—a large, almost sprawling room lined with bookshelves, with tables and straight-backed chairs for study as well as comfortably padded leather chairs near the fireplace with occasional tables near each for lamps and the setting of drinks. Seated in one of the chairs, legs crossed and fingers steepled in an insouciant pose, was the Count dai Artai. He smirked at us as we entered as if he was the master welcoming us into his presence despite the two large constables from the Surrey force that flanked him; the policemen looked more like royal guards than they did Nagi's captors.

"Ah, Miss Viola," he drawled. "I suspected that I owed my situation to you. The cavalier and heavy-handed treatment, of having these _persons_ all but drag me here was typical enough of the Inspector, but I rather doubted she'd give the order without some outside interference. To what do I owe this lovely invitation?"

"Surely you are perceptive enough to be aware of this?" Shizuru chided.

"Well, yes, of course, but I did so want to hear you say it."

"_Ara_, I have a fan? I wish to talk to you about the murder of John Smith and the attempted murder of Sergay Trepoff."

Armitage, Chrysant, and I had already heard most of the lecture already, as Armitage had insisted before she'd order any official action. While Shizuru could be as stubborn in her polite fashion as Armitage was blunt and bullheaded, she'd ceded the point, perhaps because—judging from a couple of glances she'd sent my way—she remembered the conversation we'd had after I'd rejoined her. The upshot was that only the constables flinched in surprise when Shizuru let the "attempted murder of Trepoff" bombshell drop. We'd all gotten it out of our systems the first time.

"The attempted murder of Uncle Sergay?" Nagi asked. "Do tell. Has some vengeful relation of Smith's taken a potshot at him? Or did Miss Maria reveal herself to be Smith's lover as well as hostess and try to slip poison into Uncle Sergay's food?"

"Those would be interesting, particularly the latter idea, but no. The attempt to murder Mr. Trepoff was done by the same method as the attempt to murder Mr. Smith, and by the same person."

Nagi blinked.

"You don't say? Though shouldn't that be termed attempted _suicide_ then, rather than murder? Unless you're saying that Uncle Sergay wasn't the one who shot John Smith?"

"Why does everyone keep asking that?" Armitage muttered. "How open-and-shut does a case have to be before people trust the police to arrest the right man?"

"It's all the popular detective fiction," Shizuru told her. "It undermines the public trust shockingly."

I had the sudden, crazy impression that Shizuru had been somehow spying on me when I was searching Smith's study, because Nagi and I were the two people who'd questioned Trepoff's guilt and it had been when we were alone in his study that he'd revealed his affection for crime fiction. Then I noted the copy of _The Mystery of a Hansom Cab_ sitting on the occasional table next to Nagi's elbow and realized that observation, not omniscience, had driven Shizuru's entirely too cogent remark.

"Then do explain further, Miss Viola. I am positively fascinated."

"It's quite simple, really. Some killers cannot satisfy their lust for violence unless they do in their victims with their own hands, with knife or gun, club or strangling grasp. Others prefer not to involve themselves directly, by using poison or a loosened stair or a timed bomb, or even a hired killer. You're much more interesting than that, Count. I don't think I've ever met a murderer who gets other people to volunteer to commit his crimes before."

Nagi put on a look of shocked innocence.

"Me? You are accusing _me_ of this?"

"Of course. You certainly didn't think you were hauled to this interview for entertainment purposes, did you?"

He smiled at her.

"On the contrary, Miss Viola; I am finding it vastly entertaining. I am sure that my lawyers will agree when they start to prepare a suit for slander. Accusing a gentleman of murder before so many witnesses, most of them official, should give rise to heavy damages. I wonder, does your family still have the wherewithal to pay after the elopement and disinheritance left your parents on their own?"

If the barb annoyed Shizuru, she didn't give him the satisfaction of showing it. She just shook her head sadly.

"Oh, Count, playing the 'affronted honor' game. I expected so much better from such a creative villain."

He chuckled at her reaction.

"Well, perhaps that was bad form at that. I wouldn't want to be mistaken for some pompous English gent who would seek to settle a personal insult in a _court of law_. My ancestors would be utterly shocked by such behavior. Do go on. I presume, now, that when you say 'get other people to volunteer' you mean getting Uncle Sergay to dispatch Smith and then the Inspector and the full weight of British justice to make away with Uncle Sergay?"

"Precisely. I would praise your deductive skills, but you do have a fairly significant advantage in figuring out the sequence of the crime."

"So you claim."

Nagi smirked at her as he said it, the lamplight casting his face in bronze and shadows. The grinning bastard was _enjoying_ this.

"May I ask how you came to this conclusion?"

She smiled at him. Hell, _she_ was enjoying it, too, the dueling of wits. I just did not get it. If you asked me, real-life stakes were too...well, too _real_ to enjoy playing cat-and-mouse games over.

"It was the ledger book, of course. It was the perfect choice to prompt Mr. Trepoff to action, numbers speaking in cold, plain language more convincing than any witness. You made certain he learned about Mr. Smith's perfidy, and under circumstances that provoked the reaction that you wanted.

"In truth, that was the question that consumed me the moment I discovered the ledger. Why here? Why _now_? Why deliver it to Mr. Trepoff here at this house-party? There had to be a reason. It would be so much more efficient to post it, so that Mr. Trepoff could properly examine it and institute an investigation. Wouldn't you agree, Count?"

Nagi nodded.

"That would certainly seem logical."

"Two possibilities occurred to me. On the one hand, the person who delivered the ledger might have taken it from Mr. Smith here in this house and could not afford to have it missing for too long."

"That seems reasonable. A servant, perhaps, who couldn't easily deliver the ledger to a post office without it becoming quickly known to Smith."

Shizuru smiled at him.

"Yes, I considered that. Except, of course, that the ledger was annotated by the person who delivered it."

Nagi yawned.

"Really, Miss Viola, I don't see the point."

"Don't you? Natsuki, if you'd found the records of Mr. Smith's financial misdeeds, could _you_ have deciphered it? Identified the fraudulent transactions and sham accounts?"

"Who, me?" I stared at her. "You've got to be kidding."

"On the contrary, I am illustrating a point. It requires experience, knowledge, and _time_ to analyze and annotate a financial ledger. Only someone actually involved in Mr. Smith's defalcations—Smith himself or an accomplice—could have so marked it without spending extensive time. So therefore urgency was not a factor, and we can likewise dismiss the idea of a servant. A fifteen-year-old chambermaid would not have the necessary accounting skills to annotate the ledger."

_There_.

She had him. Up until that point, what Shizuru had had was a theory, a logical explanation of the events which answered the questions and didn't leave any threads hanging. But Nagi flinched, ever so slightly, at the mention of the maid, and I _knew_ that Shizuru was right.

"So, we arrive at the inevitable conclusion: the informer gave the ledger to Mr. Trepoff here at Odessa for a specific reason, to accomplish some definite purpose. Was it to arrange for a face-to-face meeting without raising particular suspicion that they _were_ meeting? That would have been a viable solution, but no—the informer took steps to conceal his identity, the opposite behavior of someone who wanted to talk."

Shizuru twined a stray ringlet of her hair around her finger.

"That leaves only one explanation. The ledger was delivered, mysteriously, theatrically, to provoke a reaction from Mr. Sergay Trepoff."

Nagi arched an eyebrow.

"A reaction, Miss Viola?"

"Precisely. A reaction which did in fact take place. The killing of Mr. Smith."

"Now, now," the boy countered, wagging an index finger in a cautioning gesture, "isn't that a logical fallacy? How can you say that the result produced is the result intended? Perhaps the informer wanted, for example, to prompt Uncle Sergay into making a public accusation before witnesses—if we grant the rest of your reasoning, which seems to me extremely tenuous."

"Unintended consequences are the bane of the detective," Shizuru agreed. "I considered the possibility, then dismissed it. What would be the benefit?"

"You assume that the informer is a rational person. What if public humiliation, not vengeance or justice, was his or her object?"

Shizuru shook her head sadly at him.

"A person who carefully annotates an accounting ledger as his method of inspiring action? No, I think not. People who think in business terms are people who consider business results. Likewise, there would be no reason for the informer to hide his identity in that case. No, no, I can believe in one or two irrational behaviors before breakfast, but not six, particularly ones that aren't even consistent with one another. This was a scheme to provoke Mr. Trepoff into a vengeful rage, to inspire him in all the passion of the lover who has lost his bride at a time when the object of that rage was right before him, inescapable—and moreso, in the very place of Miss Searrs's death.

"Of course, that took a person with a keen understanding of Mr. Trepoff's character. Many of us would not be so motivated to murder, or if we were, would choose a vengeance that was cold, well-thought-out and meticulously planned, rather than hotheaded accusations and gunfire."

"Really, Miss Viola, you're giving me far too much credit. Am I to be hanged simply because I am Mr. Trepoff's ward?"

"That is, more or less, what it comes down to. You see, via the connecting door you had direct, easy access to his room that no one else did. You were the only person who could go in and out of Mr. Trepoff's room as if nothing was amiss, without any fear of a casual witness in the corridor seeing you entering a room you weren't supposed to be entering. And if you were caught, well, you could just claim to have been visiting him on some casual pretext."

This time, Nagi wasn't particularly impressed by Shizuru's deductions. In fact, he actually laughed.

"Really, Miss Viola, this is too much. Are you basing your entire case on the idea that the informer couldn't have slipped into Uncle Sergay's room once without being seen?"

"Oh, no, not once. Several times. If it had just been once, you would have been a suspect, yes, as I've already explained, but I would never have been certain. The problem is that you gilded the lily."

"Did I?"

"Quite. When you saw poor little Nina's love note you must have thought it was a godsend. The words on the envelope could be twisted to suit your package, and the handwriting would point suspicious minds in a completely different direction. So, you stole it. But this involved all sorts of running in and out of Mr. Trepoff's room. Enter the room. Find the note. Leave the room with the note. Cut the card to fit. Gum the card to the package. Dispose of the rest of the note, probably by burning it, a callous display towards a young woman's sincere if misguided feelings. Plant the package. Then, later, sneak in and make sure that Mr. Trepoff indeed did burn the ledger the way you were sure he would. If he'd succeeded, we'd never have gotten the whole story out of him. But a whole book doesn't burn as easily as all that, particularly with thick covers, in a banked fire. Oh, yes, there was simply too much running in and out of that room going on to believe it was causally done."

"Your imagination, at least, is impressive."

"The book not burning properly put you in a bad spot. You couldn't fish it out of the fire yourself or build the fire up on your own—if someone saw you doing that, you'd have been finished at once. The Count dai Artai does not build fires in the fireplaces of empty rooms without good cause! So, you thought you'd get Nina to do it for you. You prompted her about needing a fire while you talked to Mr. Coxley and sure enough, she ran to get a nice, steady blaze going that would have finished destroying the key evidence for you."

"I certainly don't recall asking the maid to build a fire in Uncle Sergay's room."

Armitage snorted at that.

"Oh, please. Like anyone who's known you for five minutes would believe you'd stop to chat about the weather, particularly in a way that put on a little production for a maid. You as good as ordered her to build up the fire in your room. And you'd have to be blind and deaf not to notice how she feels about Trepoff. She was certain to attend to that fire."

"Pfft. Please, so now being cold is evidence of a crime? These English winters simply aren't to my tastes. Perhaps the Saxons brought their northern weather with them when they settled here."

_I guess anything is possible,_ I thought. _He's finally said something that I agree with._

"We can't forget the question of motive, either. If Sergay Trepoff hangs or is otherwise unable to serve as your trustee—such as, for example, if he's serving a long prison term—control of your money passes into the hands of bankers. These are not men looking out for your well-being as a friend of the family but professionals who would want to impress and win the confidence of a client so that upon reaching your majority you would not find more accommodating institutions to bank through. In short, your person and your wealth would be out from under the threat of an attentive guardian and virtually within your own power."

Nagi laughed.

"Really, Miss Viola, this is too funny. If I wanted Uncle Sergay out of the way, or however it is that you phrase such things, then why should I turn it into an arcane little game by which I have him murder some third person? Why not simply...remove...him directly?"

"Because you are an intelligent young man, of course."

"Why, thank you—although, judging from the tenor of this conversation, I'm not quite sure that you can be considered a knowledgeable judge of intelligence. But do tell me how I benefit by being so oblique."

"Firstly, in this fashion you never pick up a weapon with your own hands or order any hired minion to kill for you, keeping your neck that much farther away from the noose," Shizuru began, ticking the points off on her fingertips. "Secondly, because Mr. Trepoff appears to be the aggressor, investigation will be centered on his motive for killing Mr. Smith, not the motive of third parties for killing Mr. Trepoff. Thirdly, in this manner you do as the idiom suggests, kill two birds with one stone."

"Or two people with one ledger," Armitage apparently couldn't resist explaining the metaphor.

"Then, by your reasoning, I must have had some reason for wanting Mr. Smith dead as well. I hardly knew the man, and that largely by way of being my guardian's fiancee's trustee."

Shizuru's smile widened, just by a fraction.

"Oh, yes, Count. You had a reason. You had a very good reason for wanting John Smith dead. As long as he was alive, you'd always be tied to him, by fear and shared guilt. He was always a threat to you."

"A threat to _me_? You must be joking."

"Oh, no. He was the most serious threat of all. Getting rid of him in a way that gave access to your inheritance was simply a bonus, the result of your cleverness. He could have had you executed, you see, since you killed Rena Searrs for him."

~X X X~

_A/N: While it is absolutely true that a British attorney who tries cases in court is called a "barrister," and one who works in a law office is a "solicitor," they are, in fact, also referred to as "lawyers" just like in the U.S. as well (British readers already know this of course, and there are many examples throughout the literature of the period), so Nagi isn't using an accidental Americanism there._


	10. Chapter 10

Nagi stared at Shizuru in disbelief. In truth, we all did. She'd told us all about Nagi getting rid of Trepoff and why she'd deduced it, but in typical fashion she had held one surprise back for effect's sake.

_The woman loves an audience_, I thought, while still trying to catch up. She'd have been an extraordinary actress, if she'd chosen the stage over criminal investigation.

"_He_ murdered Rena Searrs? I thought Smith did that?" Armitage found her voice first.

"No, Mr. Smith _had Miss Searrs murdered_. The motive was his and the instructions his as well. But it was not he who crept about in the stables, tampering with saddle-girths."

I had to admit that the picture of the well-fed Smith going about committing acts of sabotage was more comical than threatening. Nagi, on the other hand...

"You're right. A boy could spend all kinds of time in the stables and not be suspected."

"Very good, Natsuki. And cleverly damaged tack might not even give way at once, but wait until extreme stress was placed on it, from neck-or-nothing galloping or at a jump, which would not only maximize the chance of serious or fatal injury, but also separate the tampering from the death by days or even weeks."

Nagi found his voice at last.

"This is outrageous! I've tolerated these ridiculous speculations of yours this far, but this goes beyond the pale! Is this how you built your reputation, Miss Viola, on dramatic accusations that cannot be proven? Or have you forgotten that the inquest held Miss Searrs's death to be misadventure, a riding accident caused by a worn saddle girth?"

She nodded.

"Not at all, though I am impressed that you can recall it so easily yourself in offhand fashion. And I am quite sure that everyone in this room could think up a number of ways to weaken a strap of leather so that it appears to be a natural break due to wear. At no point did I accuse you of being the kind of idiot who would try simply _cutting_ a girth."

"Even the dimmest constable would notice _that_," Armitage agreed.

"That tack has long been disposed of," Nagi snapped, "so that even if you could prove murder through some microscopic examination of the leather or whatever, you couldn't do it now."

Shizuru shook her head sadly.

"And I had such high hopes for you. Mr. Smith confessed his involvement in the crime to Mr. Trepoff. That would prove murder quite nicely to any juror, who would gladly accept the testimony of a self-confessed killer offering an utterly reasonable explanation of his crime. If you tell a man that someone has murdered his late fiancee's guardian, and that said guardian profited financially from the fiancee's death, then honestly he'll be quite convinced of what happened before you offer any evidence at all. You must always remember human nature in these matters."

"Even if that's true, you have _nothing_ to tie me to Miss Searrs's death. Nothing!"

"How did you get the ledger in the first place? That was the question that most interested me once I realized you were the informer," she went on without acknowledging his comment. "It seemed absurd that someone could steal it from Mr. Smith's private files without him knowing—remembering, again, the _time _involved. An accomplice in his embezzlement scheme might have it, but the guests here are society and business leaders, not accountants or bookkeepers. I considered the notion of Father Greer, as a man who benefited financially from Mr. Smith's death and as a possible partner in the embezzlement, but ruled him out due to the evidence of _how_ the ledger was delivered as previously noted."

"So how _would_ I have it? Can you tell me that?" he challenged her.

"As insurance. The ledger could only have been obtained from Mr. Smith, and with his consent. You were well aware that a man who could murder once will murder again. Therefore you insisted on being given the ledger, so that if he tried to silence you, it could be delivered to the police and guarantee him a long prison term. Yet, he remained the one man who could prove you a killer. As you say, no hard evidence exists; only Mr. Smith's precise testimony could convict you. Even were he to, say, leave an affidavit with his solicitors to be delivered to the police in the event of his death, it would not be legally sufficient to convict you by itself. His death freed you from the specter of the noose."

"So you admit that there is no evidence against me, then try to use that to _support_ your theory?" Nagi tried to make it sound like incredulous mockery, but the denial rang flat to all of us. Shizuru smiled brightly at him.

"Why, yes, that does sum it up, doesn't it?"

"This is ludicrous! We'll see what the courts think about your scandal-mongering!"

"I daresay we will," Armitage said. "Count Nagi dai Artai, I'm taking you into custody on the charge of being accessory to the murder of John Smith. You have the right to remain silent; any statement you make may be taken and used in evidence against you."

"You stupid cow! Do you realize who I am?"

"Sure. You're an arrogant, vicious, manipulative arsehole."

"It's 'assassin,' Lady Haruka."

"Actually, I meant that one, Yukino."

~X X X~

"I see they bound Nagi dai Artai over for trial at the Assizes," I remarked two weeks later in Baker Street. The countdown to the twentieth century was in its last year now, January 1 having come and gone with the usual pomp and circumstance, and a fair feast from Mrs. Hudson. The Scots, after all, put considerable stock in the New Year, as did the Japanese according to Shizuru, which immediately put that side of our heritage in better grace with our red-haired landlady than the European bits.

After 1898, I could scarcely imagine what the next year would bring. I'd already been entrusted with a new friend who'd quickly wormed her way into being the closest person in my life, and with the hope that at long last there might be some justice, or at the least vengeance, for my mother's death. Would I find some resolution? Or would I end up like Sergay Trepoff, blindly hurling myself down the path of revenge and finishing with nothing but ashes?

_That's what he gets for being hotheaded and stupid_, I thought. If—no, _when—_I chose to act, I'd make damn sure I wouldn't follow his example. I couldn't imagine my mother wanting me to dance on air for the sake of avenging her.

Not that Trepoff was likely to hang. When the story broke in the papers, the publicity was all on his side. I had a suspicion that word was being whispered in the ears of certain publishers as to what way the Searrs Foundation wanted the story presented, playing up the innocence of Rena Searrs, how she'd been victimized by Smith, and the moral if not legal righteousness of the man who loved her.

Alyssa Searrs, I decided, was one scary little girl.

"I suppose it's only to be expected. The coroner's jury found against him at the inquest," I continued.

Shizuru sipped green tea from a porcelain cup with soaring herons on it.

"Of course that's hardly surprising. The coroner let you smile at the jury and spin out all your deductions to them. I never realized what a great witness you make."

She smiled at me.

"I suspect it will be more difficult at trial. So many of my opinions are conclusions, not observations, and therefore barred by the strict rules of evidence. The Crown will have to qualify me as an expert witness in matters of criminology, and the defense will no doubt fight it tooth and nail. In practical terms, the case is tenuous and circumstantial."

She drank more tea.

"It's rather annoying, actually. I had to turn down that Dixon torpedo case because I was needed to testify; I've always wanted to try on an espionage matter."

"I liked how they tried appealing to your patriotism and you pointed out that a strong British naval defense wasn't likely to inspire patriotic fervor in a Japanese-Italian. I thought that Admiralty man was going to have a seizure on the spot."

"_Ara_, you really shouldn't be so gleeful that the defense of your nation is in the hands of imbeciles."

I snorted.

"Honestly, Shizuru, I'm convinced that the competence of politicians is one of those things that's universal among nations. Namely, that they're all idiots."

"Natsuki has such a kindly view of humanity."

"Natsuki is crabby because she hasn't had a smoke in more than two weeks."

"And very well-done of you it is, too," she responded without missing a beat.

I gave up and laughed.

"I can't win."

"Natsuki is learning wisdom." Shizuru grinned at me and sipped more tea. I folded the newspaper in half and tossed it onto the table. I'd had enough of Nagi dai Artai for one day.

"If you're still in a reading mood and done with the paper, a letter came for you in the morning post."

"Oh?"

I glanced at the salver Mrs. Hudson had brought in with the teapot and, sure enough, there was one letter left over with my name after Shizuru had extracted her correspondence. I didn't recognize the hand, or the seal pressed into the red wax on the back. Curious, I slit it open with an ivory-handled stiletto Shizuru used as a paper-knife.

_My Dear Miss Kuga,_

_I am writing to you through the kind offices of my solicitors, who have obtained your direction. Your first instinct will be, no doubt, to show this letter to Miss Viola; I strongly urge you not to do so, until you have read it through and can judge for yourself._

A line like that immediately made me glance down to the signature. I should have guessed. Trying to suppress a scowl, I walked back to my seat.

_Perhaps I err in setting this to paper, but no doubt you are aware of my present situation. It is a fundamental, guiding principle of British justice that one is innocent until proven guilty. Surely you recognize that, in all fairness, there is no proof that I have done anything at all, regardless of whether the actions alleged are or are not criminal. Rather, the case against me rests entirely on the following:_

_1. The prejudice of the British juryman against foreigners._

_2. Political pressure—you know the source—which sets the popular press against me and, in the second place, whispers in the ears of the coroner, the magistrate, and no doubt the presiding judge._

_3. The testimony of your friend, Miss Viola._

_Surely you must agree that there is no physical evidence against me, no eyewitness testimony, only supposition and theory that Miss Viola has strung together into a coherent narrative painting me as the guilty party. Her winning manner and clever ways transform things in this way from mere guesswork into a compelling story. Of course my lawyers will seek to have this testimony excluded, but owing to the situation noted above, they may not succeed, and I will end in spending a number of years at hard labor for a crime which all justice cries out cannot be brought home to me._

While I couldn't deny the truth of any of that, I found myself curiously devoid of sympathy. The letter-writer, it appeared, anticipated this reaction:

_I recognize that on a personal basis, you may have no interest in my plight. Perhaps you even believe your associate's story and therefore feel that it is better for the letter of the law to yield to what you consider a just result. It is a matter on which we can hardly be expected to find grounds for agreement._

_Nonetheless, I must turn to you as the one person who can aid me. You are, I daresay, the only one who can convince Miss Viola that she is promoting a dreadful miscarriage of justice. You alone can convince her to withhold her speculative accusations. Without her, there is no case—the "story" of the "crime" is her creation, and only to her do the diverse circumstances of the case add together to make an accusation against me._

_I would hope that your sense of justice and common decency would lead you to act. Nonetheless, if this is not the case, other concerns may urge your intervention._

Ah, now we were getting to the heart of the business. I'd wondered how long it would take before we got to the bribery and threats.

_In the future, when searching a room for whatever reason, I would advise you that it would be more sensible to take notes in your own notebook rather than using stationery found on-scene. Particularly, it would be wise to write in pencil, rather than using ink and then leaving the blotter behind, with words in handwriting distinct from that of the room's regular occupant left to tell anyone curious about your activities where your interest lay._

I could feel my left eye twitch reflexively. That little sneak had pawed through Smith's study after I'd left, figuring out what I'd been up to! I'd gone and played right into his hands.

_This time, however, your carelessness has actually worked to your benefit. Seeing the subject of your interest, it was easy for me to realize that this was a matter of private concern, wholly unrelated to Miss Viola's investigation of the murder. I can therefore only deduce that your interest in the Illuminated Order of the Obsidian Court is not hers but your own. Moreover, it is clearly a matter of grave import to you, if you are willing to indulge it rather than act on Miss Viola's behalf._

The name hit me like a thunderbolt. _The Illuminated Order of the Obsidian Court._ O was for Obsidian, and those six people named were his contacts, associates, or whatever within the group! More than that, it established a definite link at last between my mother's killing and this group. "Obsidian" was often used as a synonym for black, poetically, like "ebon," but just as ebony was itself a real-world thing, so was obsidian, a black-colored volcanic glass. _That_ was what the cuff links were made of! They were the badge, perhaps, of a fraternal or so-called secret society like the Freemasons or the Order of the Golden Dawn.

The question was, was the murder Order business, or was it merely that the killers were fellow members? If it had been something like the Masons, which served as a social club for half the upper crust, it would almost certainly be the latter. For a smaller group, though, who could say? The Obsidian Court might have specific political and financial goals that crossed over into criminal dealings (one only had to look at their late member John Smith to see how that could happen!). Even if not, though, it offered a possible way to trace the identities of the two men who'd pushed my mother overboard from the _Friesland_ and stolen her bag from the purser's office.

My hands were trembling a little as I finished the letter.

_I would be more than willing to discuss these matters with you at some convenient time. Of course, it is possible that I shall be forced to spend the next several years attending Her Majesty's convenience rather than being available to yours. Offering you this for consideration, I remain,_

_Yours,_

_Nagi, Conte dai Artai_

_(his seal)_

There it was. A simple, straightforward business proposal. If I convinced Shizuru not to testify against Nagi—or, I supposed, to present her testimony in such a way as it didn't end up convicting him—he'd tell me whatever he knew about the Obsidian Court. Something for me, something for him. Had he read in my face how important this was to me? Or was this just a last-ditch effort by a desperate man, concealed behind fancy language and a smug manner?

And did I care?

His motives didn't matter. Only mine. Did I deal with a conniving, smirking devil? How much did he know, anyway? More than me, certainly. But enough more? Something valuable?

How could I tell?

And another thing—just how was I supposed to convince Shizuru to go along with this plan? I couldn't even tell her why I might want it. What on earth gave Nagi the idea that I had that kind of power over my friend? To make her throw away her principles, not only of justice for a criminal but the genuine sympathy she showed towards Trepoff at losing his love to the greed of those two men. I had to say that I was more concerned with my own problems, but something about Trepoff's plight had touched Shizuru, just as had the case of the vengeful lover of Warburton Grange this past November.

I wondered if, perhaps, Shizuru had a lost love of her own in her past. She'd never shown any particular interest in men or romance, but perhaps a tragedy or a broken heart explained that. Or it could be a lesson learned from her parents' experience, the scandal Nagi had twice alluded to, that aroused her sympathy towards loves lost.

I glanced up over the top of the paper at her; she placidly lifted her cup to her lips and drained the last of it.

It wasn't right.

_Dammit!_ I wanted to know every bloody thing Nagi had to say. Something, anything of what he knew could be the key to my past. Vengeance not for a dead lover but a dead parent—no, more, for a dead _childhood_. The single most important thing in my life, towards which I'd spent time, money, hard work, and pain.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't look at Shizuru and ask her to abandon her principles, her professional honor. I just couldn't try to manipulate her for what I wanted. Bloody hell, I wasn't even sure if I could have asked her right out honestly (if she'd had any idea what I was asking for, which was a wholly different problem).

_And now you know why you've always avoided making close friends, Natsuki_, I told myself. Just when had that line been crossed, I wondered, the point at which I'd make sacrifices for her sake?

I crumpled the letter in my fist and threw the rolled paper into the fire. I watched it blacken, twist, and crumble to ash with a sour look on my face.

"Natsuki, is it bad news?" Shizuru asked sympathetically.

I shook my head.

"No, just a begging-letter. It took forever to get to the point, that's all."

"Natsuki is annoyed by charitable solicitations?"

"When they ask me for more than I'm able to give, yeah."

"_Ara_, that would not be a sensible approach."

_Forget it, Nagi_, I thought. _I've come this far on my own, and I'll see it through that way._ I had six named to work with, six names and the identity of the organization. Confirmation that the cuff links _meant_ something instead of being a random, pointless fact. I was a lot farther along than I'd been before my visit to Odessa.

"You know how it goes," I said. "There's different things in my life which I have to spread my interest out among. The people who write those letters, only one thing matters to them, so it colors their perception."

"That...is very well put, Natsuki," she said thoughtfully, and got up to pour herself another cup of tea.

~X X X~

_A/N: I admit, Natsuki's comment about Shizuru's potential as an actress was spawned by the many similar remarks various characters have made about Holmes._

_The bit about an affidavit "not being legally sufficient to convict" is the kind of thing where solid research would help. While I'm reasonably (only reasonably, as I don't practice in criminal law!) certain that it's an accurate enough statement for the present day in the U.S., I have no idea if it would be true or not under British law in 1898._

_Haruka's final line from the first scene of this chapter is, I have to admit, my favorite line in the story!_

_The reference to the Dixon torpedo case Shizuru turned down is not to a Sherlock Holmes case (either actual or a Watsonian reference)--after all, it was taken by somebody else! It's a Martin Hewitt case, from the Victorian detective series written by Arthur Morrison._

_The events of this story, on the other hand, are as usual drawn from an oblique reference in a Sherlock Holmes story, specifically the mention in "A Scandal in Bohemia" of how Holmes was called to Odessa in the matter of the Trepoff murder._

_And while I'm on that topic, I'd like to mention something else. In several reviews for this series, some of you have noted that while you came to these stories because you were _My-HiME_ fans generally or ShizNat fans specifically, you were inspired by reading them to check out (or reread) the original Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I've tried to mention it in my review responses to you, but it bears repeating: I honestly can think of no higher praise than that you'd consider my stories to be your "gateway drug" to the Holmes canon. To each of you in that category, thank you very, very much._

_Well! We're now halfway through the braided novel (at least in terms of story count...) and things are starting to pick up a little. I hope I'll see all of you in a few months when Natsuki's investigations cross paths with an apparent serial murderer, and another familiar face from _My-HiME_ appears to be at the center of a web of intrigue and violence in what for lack of a snappier title I'm currently calling, "You Know My Methods, Natsuki"!_


End file.
